A storm tests the strength of roots, not the beauty of leaves.
Aloo Denish Obiero
Once upon a time there was a king whose domains extended far and wide, making him the envy of his neighbors. All was well with him save for a lingering misfortune: the queen had been trying for many years to conceive and failed to do so. The king grieved with his consort, both on account of her sadness and because he felt he needed a son who would keep the kingdom secure and prevent it from falling into the hands of strangers.
The royal couple was into middle age when, by some miracle, the queen became heavy with child. This was an occasion for great jubilation throughout the land, culminating when the queen gave birth to a baby girl.
The king concealed his disappointment and ordered a great feast for his daughter’s naming day. The ceremony would be held in the great banquet hall of the castle; all members of the nobility, the rich merchants, other notables, and even a few common people were invited. The most distinguished among the guests were the seven fairies who resided in the kingdom; each was expected to bestow some special gift upon the newborn.
When the cleric had completed the ceremony and presented Princess Aurora to the attendees, the baby was laid in the royal crib and each of the fairies approached the princess to present their gifts. The most senior of the fairies came first and, waving her wand over the baby, declared: “You shall be beautiful as the dawn whose name you bear.” The second fairy then promised: “You will grow in health and be free from ailments of the body.” The third one said: “You will be of sound and sharp mind and able to convey your thoughts persuasively.” The fourth fairy pledged: “Your body will be strong and flexible, allowing you to move steadily and with proper coordination.” The fifth one vowed: “Your voice will be melodious and you will be able to sing beautiful tunes.” The sixth one began: “Your motions will be graceful and you will dance...” The end of her gift was drowned by a series of crashes coming from the palace gates and the loud squeak of wheels grating upon floor tiles.
Moments later, the doors of the banquet hall flew open and a bone-encrusted carriage driven by an angry looking gryphon barged into the room and came to a halt before the throne. From it emerged a crone dressed in black garments, her wrinkled face hidden under a hood that allowed only the glint of her green eyes to shine maliciously upon the king and queen.
“It’s sister Carabosse!” whispered one of the fairies.
“But I thought she was banished from this kingdom by the king’s father, or maybe his grandfather!” observed another.
All whispers ceased when the newcomer addressed the royal couple in a voice that rumbled like the sound of approaching thunder: “Your Majesty, I hope you are enjoying this sumptuous feast to which I was sadly not invited.” The king started an apology but the fairy cut him short: “Never mind. I am not one to hold a grudge. I, too, have come to wish the new princess well and bestow my humble gift upon her.” There was a momentary silence as all in attendance held their breath in ominous anticipation.
Carabosse walked slowly towards the cradle where little Aurora lay. Bending towards the child, the fairy observed: “I see my sisters have favored you with all sorts of presents. You are to be beautiful, graceful, perfect in every way. Maybe too perfect for your own good, eh?” She paused for effect and then continued: “For your own good, we cannot allow that, else you would become haughty and conceited.” She circled her wand over the baby’s face and declared: “Your nose will be crowned by a growth that, as you get older, shall serve to remind you and your subjects that you are human after all!” At once an irregular brown bump appeared on the tip of Aurora’s nose.
The king snapped an order to his guards: “Seize this creature!” As the guards approached, Carabosse entered her carriage and the gryphon roared and issued bursts of flame that incinerated the guards. Carabosse then issued parting words that resonated in the ears of all present: “The fate of this child’s mark will determine the destiny of all in this kingdom. Watch it, for as it grows, your doom will approach.” She let out a prolonged shriek and her carriage was lost in the evening gloom.
There was silence for a moment and then pandemonium erupted. The king, shouting to make himself heard over the confusion, asked the fairies: “Can you do anything to undo this evil?”
The fairies exchanged questioning glances and the first fairy answered: “My lord, we consumed all our magic in bestowing our gifts on this child. We are powerless to undo the spell Carabosse has cast, which as you can see is spreading its effect on your daughter.” As she spoke, all eyes turned to the cradle: the wart had covered the tip of Aurora’s nose and was inching over the bridge, progressing towards the forehead.
The queen gasped and uttered a desperate cry, which was interrupted by a voice from the back of the room. It was the seventh fairy, who advanced to come next to the others. She stated: “I never got to give my gift to Princess Aurora. It was going to be a gift of artistic ability, yet I can transmute my boon into something more practical under the circumstances. I can remove that hideous growth from Princess Aurora’s face…” She stopped for a moment to gaze at the face of the king, where anxiety was giving way to relief. “But I cannot destroy it and would not do so even if I could, for it is a living part of the princess’ body and to do damage to it could be fatal to her. The growth must be safely preserved and kept intact for the balance of her life.”
She waved her hand and a large urn materialized beneath it. The fairy removed the urn’s stopper and circled her wand slowly over Aurora’s face. The child issued a small cry of pain as the tumor, now the size of a large copper coin, slowly detached itself from her face and rose, guided by the wand, into the bottom of the waiting urn. The fairy closed the vessel and delivered it into the king’s hands. “Your Majesty, please guard this lump of flesh as if it were your daughter’s life. In a way, it is.”
***
Years passed. The queen never conceived again and it became clear that Aurora was destined to be the new ruler once her father had passed away. The king devoted all his energies to preparing his daughter for the daunting task of governing the kingdom and keeping its enemies at bay. She proved herself suitable in all ways save one: she grew up feeling self-important, aware of the many blessings with which she had been endowed, and placed herself above all other mortals. She was haughty and high-handed with both friend and foe, and without realizing it erected a wall of antipathy that isolated her from everyone.
She was also quite vain. She spent hours contemplating herself in the mirror, reveling in the beauty of her face, which was perfect except for a scar on the bridge of her nose that had proved resistant to the effort of all skin care specialists consulted over the years. Aurora had inquired of her parents many times about the source of the flaw but the royal couple maintained an obdurate silence, as did all others who she consulted: everyone who was aware of what had transpired on her naming day had been sworn to silence, as the king was unwilling to darken his daughter’s days with Carabosse’s forecast. The urn enclosing the growth remained hidden under lock and key in the king’s chambers.
***
Aurora became of age on the spring day that marked her eighteenth birthday. The king had proclaimed another feast to mark the occasion, although neither he nor his subjects were in a celebratory mood: a plague was sweeping the land and a coalition of the kingdom’s enemies, led by ruthless Emperor Cantalabutte, was massing at the borders, preparing to launch an invasion.
At the start of the banquet, the king raised his cup in a toast to his daughter. At a nod of his head, an attendant left the hall, to return holding a glass urn, which he deposited carefully on the table before the king’s seat.
“What is that?” asked Aurora apprehensively.
“It is something that you own and which you should use or not, at your discretion.” The king then recounted the story of Aurora’s naming day banquet and Carabosse’s dreadful present. “I have been guarding this thing carefully all this time but my life force is running out” he continued. “Someday soon you may have to decide whether to open this vessel, retrieve its contents, and dispose of them in whichever manner you choose. I hope that, when that day comes, you will be able to make a wise decision.” He seized the urn and proffered it to his daughter.
Aurora’s face blanched as she retrieved the urn and placed it, unopened, on the table in front of her plate. The banquet continued, but the mood had changed to become a sobering event, more akin to a memorial than a birthday celebration.
***
Two days after Aurora’s celebration, the king suffered a heart attack and was dead within a week. Bolstered by the news, Cantalabutte and his allies swarmed across the borders and marched towards the capital, hoping to subjugate the country with minimal losses. Aurora (now queen) was forced to make a critical decision: whether to seek refuge in her palace, placing the fate of her kingdom in the hands of her generals, or assume command of the troops and rally them to launch a counterattack.
For all her swagger and the years of being groomed to rule, Aurora felt lacking in confidence. She detected that an important component to her ego was absent. Reluctantly, she opened her secret cabinet and extracted the urn her father had bequeathed her. She hesitated for a moment, and then unscrewed the lid that kept the vessel closed.
Instantly, something large flew out of the urn and into her grasp. It was an elongated brown object, larger than her hand and rubbery to the touch, vaguely resembling the trunk of an elephant or anteater. It squirmed in her hand, as if it was eager to continue its trajectory, which Aurora immediately guessed: it was reaching for her nose.
Aurora became dizzy, momentarily seized by panic. She knew what the pulsating mass wanted, and what yielding to its desire would entail: becoming host to a monstrosity that would destroy her beauty and turn her into a loathsome freak, a creature that evinced horror and pity in those who watched her. However, Aurora felt more secure already by merely holding this long-lost portion of herself. The gift from Carabosse was a boon as well as bane; by accepting it Aurora would fully realize her destiny.
She vacillated for a few moments – vanity fighting against duty – then, in a burst of courage, lifted the wart and placed it on her face.
***
History records that Cantalabutte’s invading forces were routed in a bloody battle that left many families mourning on both sides of the border. The victorious defenders had been led by a courageous young woman in full armor, her face covered by a veil that only revealed green eyes that shone with an intensity reminiscent, according to those with long memories, of the gaze of a fairy from days in the remote past.
Queen Aurora was mourned in a funeral attended by thousands of her subjects: nobility, soldiers, merchants, commoners. They all walked silently by her catafalque, an elaborate bier sitting on a raised platform in the capital’s main square. Some laid a flower at the foot of the structure, or mumbled a prayer. None, however, dared look into the blemish-disfigured face of the cadaver, from which, according to ancient protocol, the covering veil had been removed.
THE END
Bio:
Born in Cuba, Matias Travieso-Diaz migrated to the United States as a young man. He became an engineer and lawyer and practiced for nearly fifty years. After retirement, he took up creative writing. Over two hundred and sixty of his short stories have been published or accepted for publication in anthologies, magazines, blogs, audio books, and podcasts. One of his four novels, an autobiography entitled “Cuban Transplant,” and four anthologies of his stories have also been published.