Tales Between the Lines

VII.8 - Visit of the Witches

Giving the dancing couple his meanest Stare, the one with an uppercase S, Blödu dodged them and approached the lady who had been the focus of his younger days' wet dreams.

She was surrounded by half of the capital's unmarried or unfaithful male population, basking in their admiration.

Yet her gaze found a gap in the crowd.

Blödu's and Tussinelda's eyes met.

They shook hands. (The eyes, not Blödu and Tussinelda.)

Their breathing stopped. (Blödu and Tussinelda's breathing, not the eyes'.)

Time stood still.

"Dammit," Time mumbled. "Yet again these writers trying to tell me what to do. This has to stop."

With a grunt, Time started moving again.

Tussinelda opened her mouth, and Blödu opened his.

Yet before they could say a word, a flash encompassing all primary colors ranging from an almost ultraviolet indigo to the longest-waved tomato red flooded the room, in a silent but multihued storm.

The high windows flew open with a burst of wind.

Sitting on their gaudy broomsticks, the witches formerly known as the white witches stormed the hall.

Löu got up in royal anger, but before he could utter a word, the most colorful of the newcomers stopped in mid-hover, right in front of him.

The witch in question was colored the vibrant yellow of an egg's yolk, a sunny shade of gold, pure, pristine, innocent like a buttercup opening to the first dew in shiny perfection. Cascading curls of gold caught the light of the chandeliers, reflecting it in a thousand tiny, glowing sparks. The king's indignation thawed like snow under the tentative sunbeams on a mellow spring day.

Time, aware another request to stop was imminent, dug in-ear headphones from his timeworn trenchcoat's pocket, pushed them into his ears, and checked the playlist on his new, timeless smartphone. He decided it was, indeed, time for a classic.

Clicking on the familiar icon showing a prism fracturing a light beam split into its rainbow components, Time left the ballroom to the first notes of Pink Floyd's "Time", chin held high and hands buried deep in his pockets.

Unfortunately, the assembled nobility and bourgeoisie had no time to appreciate Time's dramatic departure: all eyes were glued to the drama taking place on and in front of the king's raised throne dais.

Except for Blödu and Tussinelda, of course—they had only eyes for each other. But like everyone else's, the authors' (and therefore the readers') gaze is irrevocably drawn to the king and his golden counterpart.

King Löu, unhindered by a thought-inspiring time out, harrumphed. Then he reconsidered, in an undeniable proof people (even kings) under certain premises will think for themselves without being prompted by authors or by Time. It may just take them longer.

During his phase of self-prompted reconsideration, the king realized the unique golden specimen of the female gender floating on a broom in front of his dais looked vaguely familiar and indisputably attractive.

Similar thoughts buzzed through the witch's golden brain, although mixed with certain incertitude about her motivation. Didn't she come here to wreak havoc on something? Or someone? Wasn't there a higher goal to her mission?

She powered down her broom, alighted on the floor, and stood straight. Straight as a ramrod, as they say, which was not a posture to be assumed before the king. Groveling was what you did there, or at least kneeling and bowing.

Lord Glünggi seized the hilt of his sword and approached the perpetrator to smite her. The king held up a hand, stopping him.

Smiting did not happen.

A hush fell over the already hushed crowd. What would Löu do to punish the golden woman's audacity?

He got up from this throne and took a step towards her, his face chiseled, white stone—yonder-like.

The yolk yellow witch still stood straight, her golden eyes taking him in. Unafraid.

He extended his royal fist towards her, the one clasping the Yonder stone.

"I remember you," he said. "You were the first one to be bleached."

"Right." She nodded and extended a finger towards his pale fist.

"I..." The king hesitated. He opened his hand, palm up, to reveal the whitish stone of Yonder. "I'm sorry. It was the stone's doing."

"I know. The Cavern of Ugh taught me." She approached her finger to the stone.

And touched it.

White crept into her fingernail, her digit, and her hand.

Her arm, though, pulsed a fiery yellow. The line where the color of egg met the one of snow wavered. It first moved up to her wrist, then back into her hand.

Back and forth.

Faster and faster.

A low hum came from it.

The hum grew into a low-pitched droning.

The droning turned into a shriek.

The shriek ended with a clap and a flash.

The Yonder stone was gone, transformed into a cloud of sparkling dust, like a pillow-sized, faintly hissing cloud.

It bifurcated into two cloudlets. They still hissed, like silk caressing skin. They billowed and drifted.

One billowed and drifted over Löu, halting there. The other billowed and drifted over Glünggi, halting there, too.

The hissing stopped.

Gently, like snowflakes glittering in the soft light of the chandeliers, the dust settled on Lord Glünggi and covered him from his midnight black hair down to his steel-covered toes. The dust fell, and his uniform disappeared, the vibrant colors replaced by a layer of gold-veined white.

Lord Glünggi, the renowned historical hero, was completely surprised by the happenings. He lifted his head towards the fast dwindling cloud of Yonder Stone dust, eyes wide and mouth agape.*

Even the deep cornflower blue of his eyes turned white. Later, none of the witnesses could recall at which moment exactly, but suddenly the famous Lord Glünggi turned back into a statue of white marble, its smooth surface only marred by delicate golden veins.

In the meantime, the king was dusted as well, although in a less spectacular fashion. At first, his eternally pale cheeks showed the signs of a shy, rosy blush. This caused the golden witch to step nearer, reaching out a yolk-yellow hand towards his Majesty's face.

And while the dust settled and King Löu gradually regained his long forgotten, healthy coloring, he pulled the witch of his desire closer, barring the audience from witnessing the miraculous spectacle of his re-coloration.

Instead, the public was gifted with the view of their king making out with a beautiful woman in a spectacular, golden gown.

While Glünggi was forgotten, everyone stared at the couple, including the range of color witches from ultraviolet to infrared. The purple witch started clapping, followed by her fellow witches and the guests.

This had an unexpected effect on Blödu und Tussinelda.

_____

*For centuries to come, historians, alchemists, and other dubious scholars would engage in controversial discussions why an artist pictured the famous founder of the realm and national hero in such a deeply confused posture. Other scientists were thankful for the unique opportunity to study the poor condition of the hero's teeth, content to reconstruct the dietary habits of the kingdom's early population.