The Moon Beyond the Mist

4. Bedtime stories

Maria had left the sombre dust of the library at a running pace. She had flown down several flights of flagstone stairs with her boot laces snatching at her ankles before Robin had caught up with her. She was breathing heavily, though not from the sudden exertion.

"Slow down, Princess," Robin ordered, grabbing at her elbow to hold her steady.

"We've got to go, Robin, we must hurry, find out what all this means... find out what this has to do with the Moon Princess... with me!" cried Maria, chest heaving as she attempted to pull away from his grasp.

"What is there to find, Princess? We can't act so rashly. We need to think about this!"

Maria's mind was racing, a million thoughts shouting in a million voices that faded in and out as she desperately tried to sift through everything they had found out already. It was true that she was the Moon Princess of Moonacre Valley, yet she knew nothing of this mystery. She bent her knees and lowered herself to the floor, burying her head in her palms. Memories stirred and were roused from their agitated sleep.

"Loveday!" she gasped, her head coming up as she sought out Robin's eyes. There may not be enough information to draw from in the manor, but Loveday had lived as the Moon Princess for years. What's more, she had grown a family of sorts in the woodland. She was companion and defender of fauna and flora alike; a friend of Loveday's was a friend to the forest.

They knew the way. Loveday had shown Maria up to the cottage countless times and acted as a mentor in all foreign studies, from horticulture to divination. For once, after the disquiet of the previous days, Maria felt a veil of peace fall over her shoulders as the two traversed the familiar path through the trees. There was a sense of harmony that could be found nowhere else in the world excepting Loveday's whimsical woodland cottage. Walls as white as snowdrops were latticed with honeysuckle that grew from floor to thatch. The roof itself, despite seemingly being composed of straw, was a vibrant red that surpassed the colourful mushrooms which sprouted around the entrance. Small windows placed irregularly on each wall let in the light from any direction, giving the main room inside a constant amber glow.

Maria reached down into a rabbit hole dug next to the eastern wall, fishing out a battered copper key. She slipped it into the door's lock and entered Loveday's home, treading carefully and wishing she had thought to seek out Loveday back at the Moonacre Manor. But time was against them, the grains of sand slipping through his crystal hourglass at an unforgiving pace. It was a mere handful of hours before the sun was to begin its descent.

She acted quickly, tasking Robin to search through the upper shelves of Loveday's bookcase as she went through the lower ones. Loveday may not have liked her unwilling role in Moonacre's history, but she was faithful and dedicated to any cause. It appeared as though she had collected stacks of books concerning Moonacre's dark past and the legends behind the Princesses. Some were old and falling apart while others were barely touched. Occasionally Maria came across Loveday's looping scrawl, she had made notes in the margins, linking ideas and devising concepts.

Yet curiously, it was when Maria picked up a tattered copy of an old fairytale that she felt the pull of ancient knowledge and promise once again. She had never come across it as a child in London, but then again, she had never been told of Moonacre during her infancy.

The book followed a young Moon Princess, her ethereal unicorn a source of light as she rode through a treacherous forest. Monsters crept in the shadows, contorted minions of darkness whose eyes followed her everywhere. She was searching for three items that would bring peace back to the land and break the curse that had befallen it. When offered to the Mother Tree, the heavens broke open and the sun brought life back into the woodland. The last roughly sketched image showed the Princess, laid motionless at the foot of the tree with her hands folded over her chest. It was undetailed and worn from time, but the peaceful image turned Maria's blood icy cold.

She let the pages fall back, returning her to the opening of the book. In small print was a short poem, a prologue for the story ahead:

Three items found betwixt stream and meadow,

Calls back the light lost to the shadow.

Petals that contain the sun,

And water from the darkness sprung.

Element three brings forth a plight,

It beats under the tree of life.

Combine the artefacts foretold,

And heaven's light one shall behold.

The story was uncanny. Excluding the dramatic incorporation of the monsters, undoubtedly added to thrill sleepy children tucked up in bed. It was indeed a child's tale, but Maria knew better than most to trust legends of the past. Moonacre survived from its stories, passed through generations and lovingly adapted in each family and household. Furthermore, and perhaps more pressingly, it was the only lead they had. If this story proved to be genuine it would seem a treasure hunt was about to begin. An innocent child's bedtime story turned to merciless trial against the clock. 

Moonacre's light was going out.