Chapter 2: The Soldier and the Crone
Chapter 2: The Soldier and the Crone
Aaron Hotchner was tired. That wasn't quite right; tired was too small a word to fully and accurately encompass what he was. Years of soldiering in the queen's army had left him...weary. Worn. Drained. He couldn't think of the proper word, but he knew it was something beyond tired. He sighed like an old, old man and lowered his aching bones onto a hummock at the edge of the long, dusty road. He reached into his rucksack and pulled out two apples: his meager dinner.
He could see the palace from here. It rose above the landscape like a mirage, shimmering in waves of heat reflected by the sun beating down on the parched landscape. He remembered when the land around the palace had been lush, fertile. That was before. These days, what with the decade-long drought, the war, the queen's out-of-touch way of ruling...they were lucky the whole country hadn't gone up in flames.
Now the war was won - maybe, depending on your point of view. The enemy had retreated, and a peace treaty was being drawn up, but had it really been worth it? The flower of a generation lost...Aaron knew he was lucky to have come through it all alive, but he didn't have it in him to feel blessed.
"Ah, it must be my day of joy!" a cracked, wizened voice said. "Here I am, an old woman wanderin' down the road, an' I round a bend to find a vision of manly beauty all a-sittin on this here hummock. Tell me, young man, would ye have anythin' to spare for a parched old lady on this hot-as-fire day?"
Aaron studied the ancient, bent crone with a critical eye. He was always wary of strangers; the war had taught him that; but this woman looked harmless. "Come sit with me, old mother. I've an apple to spare; it'll quench your thirst and assuage your hunger."
"Good lad, good lad!" she cackled, waddling over to him and slowly, carefully sitting down beside him. He passed her the apple, and she studied it a moment before taking a huge bite and chewing with lip-smacking relish. "Lovely, lovely!" she declared. "A perfect apple on a hot afternoon. Tell me, young man, where ye bound?"
He shined his own apple a moment before taking a careful bite. "Nowhere in particular," he replied around a mouthful of fruit.
"Just back from a-soldierin', hey?" she asked.
"Is it that obvious, old mother? Yes, I am - was - a soldier. But they say the war's over, so now I'm...wandering, I suppose. Like you."
"Aye, aye," she said with a sage nod. "I see ye eyin' yonder castle. Ye thinkin' of succeedin' where fancy princes ha' failed?"
"I'm sorry?" he asked, blinking in surprise.
"Surely ye ain't been a-soldierin' that long, lad! Ye've heard the queen's challenge?"
"I'm sorry, old mother; I've been gone a long time. Pray, enlighten me."
"Ooo, you an yer fancy speech! Yer like to turn an old lady's head. Alright, here it is: her most gracious Majesty Queen Erin wants a man to find out how her daughters wear out their shoes every night when she keeps 'em locked up good an' tight. She's offerin' a girl and a kingdom to the winner."
"A girl and a kingdom? The queen cares that much about shoes?"
The crone shrugged uneven shoulders. "Doubt it. It's more the...wonderin'. She locks those girls in every night to keep 'em safe. It must eat her to know they're gettin' out somehow."
He looked out over the scorched countryside to gaze contemplatively at the palace. "Perhaps I should try it," he mused.
"Hhhm. Perhaps so, young lad. Would you take some advice from an old crone?"
He glanced down at her; smiled. "Any advice would be more than welcome, old mother."
"Listen well, then, for it's important. First, eat or drink nothing those girls give you. They're tricky ones, and they're used to over-inflated princes. Stick to your own food and water."
He nodded quietly, and some part of his mind wondered where her country accent had gone. "And second?" he asked.
"Second," she replied with a grin, "wear this." She reached into her pack and pulled out a dun-colored cloak, much patched and mended.
"Ah, old mother, I thank you, but surely you have greater need of this than I."
She eyed him testily. "Don't be a fool, boy. Watch." She threw the cloak over her desiccated form and disappeared before his eyes. He blinked, astounded, as she swept the cloak off and handed it to him. "Guard it well; the queen would give her eyeteeth to get hold of that."
Aaron stared down at the unassuming patch of cloth. "This is a mighty gift. How can I repay you?"
"You fed me when I was hungry. That's all."
His brow creased. "Surely I can do more? One apple is hardly a feast."
She smiled, and the expression took years off her face. "Become king, lad. Restore this land. That's all I ask."
"I will, old mother; thank you."
"No, lad; I thank you. Now go. Your princess is waiting."
Aaron had been nervous about his reception at the palace, but for once his fears were misplaced. The queen had greeted him graciously, introduced him to her lovely daughters, and feasted him well. He'd eaten sparingly, though he couldn't remember when he'd last seen such an abundance of food. Did the queen truly not realize the state of her people, the common men and women who toiled in the baking sun to produce so little for their efforts? The drought and the war were destroying-
His thoughts were interrupted abruptly by a knock at the door. He supposed it was for the best: he could end up brooding all night and not get any closer to solving the mystery he was here to unravel. He opened the heavy oak panel to find the eldest princess, Emily, facing him with a demure smile and a plate of cookies.
"My lord Hotchner," she began, fluttering impossibly long, sooty lashes at him.
"Please, don't call me that. I'm no lord," he interrupted.
It surprised her into looking up at him, and for a fleeting moment he caught a glimpse of the real woman behind the simpering façade she wore. The mask was back so fast he almost wondered if he'd imagined its slip. "Ah, of course," she said, "you're a soldier. What shall I call you, then?"
He considered. "Aaron, I suppose. It's my name." He hadn't been called by his given name in years.
"Aaron," she replied with a slight smile. "Very well, Aaron, I've come to offer you some cookies. You didn't eat much at supper, and you'll need your strength if you're going to follow us tonight."
He regarded her through shrewd eyes. The silence stretched so long between them that she found herself fighting the urge to squirm beneath that penetrating, perceptive gaze. At last, though, he smiled, flashing charming dimples, and took the plate she offered. "Thank you, princess," he said cordially. "Cookies sound wonderful. I'll see you later tonight, I suppose."
Her mouth curved. "Indeed. I have a feeling about you."
"Do you?" he asked, selecting a cookie from the plate. "What sort of feeling?" He pretended to take a bite.
"A strong one," she nearly purred.
He almost choked on his fake bite of cookie.
She laughed. "Enjoy the snack, Aaron. Goodnight."
"Right. Thank you. Goodnight," he replied awkwardly to her retreating back. As she disappeared around a bend in the corridor, he closed his chamber door and leaned against it. Sighed. These princesses were more troublesome than he'd been expecting. Realizing he had to hurry if he was going to follow her, Aaron tossed the plate aside and pulled the old woman's gift from his pack. Donning it, he hurried down the hall after the princess, determination etched in every fiber.
Tune in next time to see if Our Hero can discover the truth behind the princesses' nocturnal revels!