TCOTNK Season 3.12

The Castle Of The Naked Knights. The origins of the picture book that will change so many lives....

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back to chapter3.11 (last weeks episode)

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V

She wakes me up very early from a night without dreams. Morning twilight. I'm way overdue for a wash, but I only freshen up my hands and face with the lukewarm water from the jug. No need to get dressed because I already am. I like that. I occasionally run a wet rag between my legs, I don't wear underwear so it doesn't get dirty. I just smell like myself.

There is porridge on the stove. A very sweet rusk porridge that sits hot and firm in your stomach. Tasty. I look through the small window and just continue spooning. A polished silver spoon that barely fits in my mouth. I let it sit for a moment and then slowly pull it out. What's in that stuff? Oh, mmm.

The old woman is working outside. Chops wood. With long striking blows that split the blocks in one go. The long ax flashes in the morning light. She chops with both hands as if she... ...then she picks up the two halves of the block and fits them back together. I conclude that she has more of those quirks, and I want to turn around to go towards the bookcase until I realize what I'm seeing. I put the bowl with the porridge down, press my nose against the not so clean window, but I can't see properly. Like she's talking to the wood and...

I want to see if what I thought I saw is correct and I walk outside barefoot. I have to go around for that. The wood shed is located at the back. I thought. It is dense with blackberries. Full of black pearls. I pick a few. Juicy and sweet. Not dried out at all. It's December. I walk back. Try it from the other side. Climb over a piece of rock, then come to the river, see the small wheel that turns steadily around, behind it I see the blackberries again. I do not get it.

I step back into the low door of the house. I have cold feet. Nothing changed. Except that my washed bowl is back in its place in the cupboard. The pan is gone. The large spoon is back in the clay pot. The memory of these kinds of mistakes in reality makes me sick. I do not want this.

I walk towards the window. With a cold heart. My jaw tight. Nothing changed. A large open space. The woodpile, the large chopping block consisting of an enormous slice of tree. A segment of a pillar. Table high. She's just putting a new block on it. Very carefully.

I run up the stairs. I want to know. My bedroom in the attic. The water under my window. The water wheel is standing still. It is also quiet in the mill. No rotating shafts or gears. I find myself getting angry and refusing to accept what my senses are telling me. With my skirts rustling, I rush back down the stairs to the low kitchen, pull up a chair and climb onto the counter. That window can be opened. It's not big and awkwardly placed but I don't care. I push myself through. Which is a struggle. My hips together with the dress just barely go.

I end up in the grass. Crawl out from under the overhanging floor and immediately hear the loud rush of the spinning water wheel to my left. I knock all the iniquities off my skirt and want to speak to the old lady about the absurdities of this place, but I look at my feet in surprise. There is frost on the grass. It's so cold outside that my breath clouds. The ground is frozen hard.

She sits on the mountain of chopped wood. With a bowl of steaming porridge. I've lost my text for a moment. There are two thick, shiny blackberries on the large spoon that she happily slides into her mouth. She closes her eyes at the bite.

"Are you finally here to help?" she asks with her eyes closed.

I'm just sucking in some air. Standing with my hands on my hips and being indignant.

"Don't have pity," she says with her mouth full of new soft rusk goodness, "without fire the waterwheel grinds to a halt and the goddesses drop into the sea."

I only half hear her. I'm a bit tired. It just doesn't end. Maybe I'm still sleeping. Because now my eye falls on the round table-high block of oak that she uses to split her winter supply of firewood. What I thought was a long ax is a fucking sword. An almost man-sized double-edged sword. Placed upright into the big chopping block. The hilt stands like a cross on a grave. The sunlight catches the floral decorations. Roses. Beautiful wild rambling roses are engraved in the steel.

'Go ahead,' I hear behind me, 'don't listen to the whining wood. Firm but loving.'

This woman is completely senile.

Or I am.

I can't reach the leather-wrapped handle from the ground and the blade looks awfully sharp, so I climb onto the block. I'm being tricked, I think, but I pull with both hands anyway. I pry. I push. There is no movement to be made. Not a millimeter.

She's laughing at me. Friendly. Encouraging. I smile back crookedly. Refuse to let it get the better of me. Jerk again with all of my might. Breathing from both nostrils. It doesn't even bend. I look at my hostess with venom.

She stands up decisively. Licking her long-empty bowl with a bony finger. She wants to walk away. Towards the blackberries. I do not want that. She can't leave me behind.

"Which goddesses?" I ask.

She spins around on her heels and beams at me.

"There now," her high voice drips with relief, "I knew you could do it."

I hold the sword with both hands. The point is on the wood. I feel the weight tilting. I smile back uncertain.

I lift it up. That's just fine. It seems to have a mind of its own. It's not just gravity. Something tickles my chest. This is even better than the hot sweet porridge. The steel absorbs the sun. It splits the air.

"Careful girl, Brynn is eager."

She giggles excitedly.

I feel intensely happy. Brynn? Has she said anything about those goddesses yet? Dropping into the sea when the water is still. I can picture it like this.

The old woman looks back. She hears something. I know her name is Samanthe. I also know that there are visitors. On the other side of the house. I can't hear it, I just know it. I am faster than Samanthe at the passage through the bushes. Holding the sword at my side. I rush through the green tunnel to the front of the house.

On the path is the car with the angel on the hood. The owner pets Uglee. I feel like I'm going to faint. Not because of the visitor but because of very ordinary things. Which are at the same time impossible.

In my hand I hold a dead branch. The grass is blooming. Insects are buzzing. The lord of the castle leans against his car and has a beard. He raises a friendly hand. It's spring.

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The next episode will be published on April 7