Part III
Alternately called, 'the part where Klara is seduced by cherries'
We must now return to the town in the clearing; where its residents mourned for the loss of little Rune, especially Klara, his former playmate. No-one knew where he had gone to, nor could anyone think up of a plausible explanation.
The shaken little boys that Rune was last seen with were scrutinized and interrogated, but they could only repeat what everyone else knew --- that Rune had attached his sled to a strange carriage and he had sped out of the town gates and into the midst of the blizzard.
Oh, how the little girl cried and wept in his absence! How she desperately prayed and wished for him to come back to their balcony, even if he still scorned the very presence of her!
The adults searched and searched everywhere in the clearing, but they could not find anything. The snowstorm that evening had wiped out all the tracks that the carriage would have made, and there was not even a trace that indicated there the carriage actually had existed.
Both Grandmamma and Klara continued to hope for little Rune’s survival, in spite of the frustration that they felt when the men searching for Rune came back each and every dreary winter’s day to tell them what they already knew: “Rune isn’t here.”
Soon, the snow melted and the ice-water flew straight back into the river that unfroze as soon as the new year’s sun started shining again. The sparrows appeared from their nest, the roses bloomed and daintily spread out its petals, the trees started to grow leaves to cover its bare body --- but all the poor townsmen couldn’t muster such joy and happiness from their heavy hearts when they arrived at Rune’s house to report to Grandmamma.
“Madame,’ one tactfully started the conversation, “How do you find the weather to-day?”
The shriveled geriatric lady, who had aged a lot more in the process of finding Rune, raised a white eyebrow. “Fine.”
One of the young men in their company couldn’t stand the awkward atmosphere in the house anymore and cried, “Oh, Madame Emmeline, we found the carriage by the river.”
Grandmamma straightened up in her rocking chair. “How was it, Postle? Tell me the truth; I will box your ears if you do not. Speak, boy, speak!” she demanded.
The young man sighed and dipped his head. “The carriage was collapsed onto itself, Madame. We suspect that the blizzard caused a great amount of snow to fall onto the wooden structure, causing---“
“Go on, boy; don’t dilly-dally on such unimportant matters!” she interrupted.
“What happened was that the carriage might have flattened Rune and the stranger inside. But we searched through the debris, and nothing was either found of the boy or the stranger.
“But we have enough reason to believe that the stranger that kidnapped Rune was a female; a female who was wearing white furs.” the first man said grimly, and produced a piece of white fur out of his pocket.
Grandmamma paled and sunk back into her chair. “Oh my,” she whispered, slowly shaking her head. “It’s the Snow Queen.”
“Madame, we cannot point fingers at such an early phase in our investigation! The Snow Queen might be despicable and she might want our land, but there is nothing that can prove--- “
“Yes, there is!” The mere intensity and volume of her voice shocked everyone in and outside the crowded living room. “Was the carriage white?”
“Yes, but---“
“Then there you have it. The Snow Queen is the culprit.”
Behind the slightly closed door, little (eavesdropping) Klara gasped.
The man ignored her comment. “We believe that they were both rescued in the nick of time by someone else---“
“That is utter bullshit, and you know it.” The young man with the surname of Postle stepped out, and opened his arms. “The Snow Queen must have took him in her flying sled, and flew all the way from here to District 203.”
“It’s Lapland,” the man half-heartedly interjected, but no-one responded to his comment.
“We must act this time. We cannot let the Snow Queen any further.” He stepped another step forward, and continued, “Who knows who she’ll take next --- your mother? Your wife? Your kids?”
A young man nodded. “Edward is right. We can’t just let the witch go on terrifying our town.”
“Yes. It’s payback time,” another hissed.
“But will a rebellion save Rune?” the man petulantly folded his arms across his chest. “The Snow Queen might turn on us and kill us all! Is that what you men want?”
“Is that not worth trying? Is Rune’s little life so worthless to you all?” he spat and turned for the door. “What kind of men do you call yourself? You all are cowards, and if you all will not help me, I shall go and find the Snow Queen myself.”
The door slammed with a bang, and the hinges shivered in annoyance.
“Is he mad?” “Is he right?” the men in the room asked themselves.
The tension in the room finally bubbled and burst. “I believe he is right,” Grandmamma said, closing her tired eyes.
“What?” the noises of debate and discussion, fueled by the old distinguished lady’s seemingly nonchalant comment, started again.
Outside, Edward Postle turned to an embarrassed Klara and sighed. “I know that you eavesdropped on our little…conversation. But I can’t blame you.” He took out a lighter and pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
The little girl looked on in curiosity as the young man lighted his cigarette and smoked, trying to stifle her ash and smoke- induced coughs but failed to do so.
The young man blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said while dropping his cigarette to the ground and stamped on the dimming embers.
“He is dead, isn’t he?” the little girl brushed a tear from her watery hazel orbs and stared at her shuffling feet.
“Probably not, but he might as well be,” he said quietly, his voice nearly lost in the morning breeze. “I’ve heard a lot about what the Snow Queen does to her willing prisoners. All those…activities aren’t suitable for a pair of a young maiden’s ears such as yourself, but the only thing I can tell you is that he would have lost his humanity when we finally reach wherever he is.”
He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it at all.”
Klara looked up and blurted, “But it is worth it!”
The young man looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
She swallowed, and fidgeted. “Well, Rune could be a mean person at times, but he’s still…Rune,” she finally said. “Rune could never be…inhumane.”
“I understand, little one,” he shoved his hand in his pockets, and looked at her, “That’s why I’ll fight for him and our town.”
“Thank you,” she whispered and instinctively hugged him.
He smiled, and patted her head. “Now go play and think about other things; I’ll get Rune back,” he promised.
“I will,” she dimpled, but immediately turned serious. “Please remember this hymn before you go. Grandmamma said that the Snow Queen would become frightened when she hears the most beautiful hymn on earth.” She frowned. “Or is it the purest hymn?”
The young man laughed at her naïveté. “It doesn’t matter; what is this hymn you speak of?”
Klara opened her tiny pink mouth, and out came the voice of an angel:
Roses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ-child see.
But we shall the Christ-child see.
He followed her words, and they sang it over and over, high soprano combined with baritone, till Klara was sure he had remembered the hymn.
The little girl beamed at Edward and they said their goodbyes. After making sure that he had entered the house, she ran all the way out of the town gates and to the river, careful not to be discovered by the townspeople. She knew she could not afford being caught then.
She got into a small boat lying by the reeds; with a tiny push, the boat easily slid into the river, and it glided downstream, the boat bobbing up and down and drifting leisurely.
Colourful wildflowers grew all over the two banks; they were spread all over the place, and butterflies hovered over them, sometimes gently landing on the yellow and blue petals. Cows and lambs grazed on fresh green grass a bit further from the banks, where the woods started and the still snow topped mountains rose high above the clouds.
It was surely a beautiful sight, and Klara spent hours and hours looking at the idyllic landscape on the little boat that was drifting further and further away from her home; until she couldn’t even see her town when she turned back to see what was behind her.
Night came soon after; the moon shone brightly over her, illuminating her way through the river and the woods. Grass became sparser and sparser, while trees became more and more plentiful. She knew that she was entering the midst of the woods, and she knew that the woodland animals would not hurt one as young as she; so she fell asleep without a single worry on her mind, the wolf’s howl and the occasional twittering of the birds being her lullaby.
When she finally woke up from the swallows’ singing early in the spring morning (and what a fine morning it was), she saw the woods thinning out to bushes. “Oh!” she exclaimed out loud, “I must have come a long way.”
And it was true --- the stream had become more and more rapid during her sleep, and had brought her through another kingdom. Of course she did not know about this, but all her thoughts about her immediate location flew out of her mind once she caught sight of a large cherry orchard in the bushes.
The cherry orchard had two woods as its neighbours; and in the very middle of the amaranth and dark spring green bushes, a little cottage with a thatched roof laid there tranquilly by the river.
As the boat drifted closer to the orchard and the cottage, the little girl called, “Hullo! Is anyone there?”
An old woman hobbled out of the house, wearing a large hat painted with lots of pretty flowers on it, presumably to shade her from the sometimes cruel sun. “You poor thing,” she said when she saw the little girl in the boat, “How could you fare during your long journey? For you must be hungry, and tired.”
She called for her helper. “Hans! Come over here and help the poor girl out of her boat.”
A funny little tin man came strolling out of the house, making little creaking sounds with it. “Yes, mistress,” he said in a monotone, and stopped the boat when a hook grew from his metal chest and gently lifted Klara out of the boat, which continued on its merry way through the river without her.
“Come and tell me and Hans who you are, little one,” the old woman said, “And tell us your story. Now, don’t look so afraid; Hans’s just a poor old harmless soul. Though he ain’t a man --- he’s a robot.”
Klara followed the robot and the old lady into the cottage, though she was still wary of the tin man with his wide unblinking eyes, pointy triangular nose, and permanently smiling mouth.
They all sat down at the wooden table, and the little girl told her tale while eating cherries from a pretty porcelain bowl that the old woman had told her to eat as many as she would like.
“Uh-huh,” the old lady said when Klara had finally retelling her life. She rose up and hobbled over to where the little girl was sitting; and started to comb her long auburn waves till it was as glossy as it should have been, while Hans silently handed over a mirror for her to look in.
“I’m sure Rune gonna come over this way --- the Snow Queen must have to pass my forests to go to her darned kingdom,” the old woman said slowly, making sure that Klara was transfixed by the mirror and her reflection.
“Forget all your sorrows, young Klara. You’ll be happy here, and you’re pretty too, so you’re gonna be pretty happy here, living with me and Hans,” she continued in that slow voice, hypnotising the poor child.
“Forget ‘bout that boy and your life before, he ain’t worth your time, your dedication or your love ; I have always wanted a little maiden like you, and now you belong to me…”
Klara closed her eyes and her figure slumped onto the table, mind self-erasing the memories of her time with her dear playmate. The old woman, seeing that her cherries sprinkled with her special amnesia potion had done the trick, went into her backyard.
She poured a special concoction that she brewed herself that could induce black rot onto the rose bushes, until the roses shrunk into black, wilted dust and sunk into the ground.
The old woman wasn’t a bad person; it was just that she had been lonely for a long time, and to be fair, robots aren’t good housemates either. She was a brilliant alchemist in her day, and she wanted to share her knowledge with a young impressionable mind.
Klara was exactly what she wanted, and she knew that the little girl would run away from her and into the forest if the youngling ever caught sight of a rose, for it would remind her of the people she held most dear, and not even the most powerful amnesia potion could ever suppress that longing for family and friends.
So when the little girl woke up from her memory-reducing sleep, the old woman had already removed every trace of roses throughout the whole area. “Come here, Klara; come see the flowers in our garden!”
She rubbed her eyes and stepped out of the threshold, and lo and behold, every single flower she had ever heard of was there in full bloom! They were so beautiful and fragrant in their own way; she had never seen such a vibrant and colourful picture of flowers, even in her picture books.
The little girl jumped for joy on seeing so many flowers that she adored; and for many days after, she spent most of the day in the garden playing with the flowers and helped the old woman develop special potions and brews for gardening while Hans tended to the cherry orchard.
True to her word, the old lady and Klara lived very happily together, and the old lady would always sigh contently in her rocking-chair on the threshold while seeing Klara talking to the flowers in the warm sunshine, who now could talk back to her; for the old woman and Klara had brewed a concoction that could make plants speak in the human language.
And after a delicious dinner, Klara would say good-night to every single plant and person in the cherry orchard, and climb into her mahogany bed and into her silk quilts and pillows embroidered by the old lady herself.
But though the little girl was content and happy, she couldn’t help but feel that something was missing, that she had forgotten something very important.
Days passed and months went away, and on one chilly autumn’s day did she finally recall what she had forgotten.
She was sitting in the living room, singing quietly to herself, when she suddenly had a whim and picked up the old lady’s hat with all of the painted flowers on it. The most beautiful out of the bunch was of a rose, and with it, Klara finally remembered her dearest playmate.
The old lady’s meticulous plan fell into shambles --- in her haste, she had forgotten to erase the rose from the hat itself.
“Are there no roses here?” she cried, and ran out into the garden. She looked high and low, she looked to and fro, but not a trace of a rose was found.
But what was that tantalisingly sweet smell out of those familiar flowery scents? she asked herself. She sniffed and the smell led her to a patch of barren land; yes, the very place the rosebushes had grew before the old woman killed them.
Klara ran back inside, and fetched a super fertiliser from the chest where they put their gardening tools in; and ran back out and sprayed the bottle unto the ground. The rosebushes sprouted out of the barren land almost immediately, and blossomed every more beautifully than those ones on her shared balcony with Rune.
She kissed each and every crimson petal, singing her hymn in a high, cheerful voice:
Roses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ-child see.
But we shall the Christ-child see.
“What are you doing, Klara?” a metallic voice interrupted her.
“Oh, Hans!” she cried and flung her arms over the tin man. “I mustn’t stay here any longer; I must continue on my way!”
He frowned. “To find the little boy you had once spoken of?”
“Yes! Oh, yes, I would dearly love to!”
Hans sighed, an almost humane gesture. “Very well; then we must hurry, for mistress is coming back soon; and I think I know where little Rune is, but we shall talk more of that on our way.”
And with that, they both began to run, Klara tucking up her dress so she could run even faster, but she nearly tripped when a narcissus wrapped its tendrils around her bare feet.
“Oh, how pretty I am! Look at my yellow hue, and envy me, the loveliest of all!” it squawked.
For the first time in her life, she rolled her eyes. “But what do I care for this kind of stuff? It’s not important at all.”
And the little girl and Hans ran into the forest, without taking a break, without stopping to look back and see if the old woman knew of their betrayal.
Meanwhile, at that very moment, Edward Postle arrived at Grandmamma’s house to attend a meeting about the upcoming Resistance.
“Is there any news about Klara or Rune?” Grandmamma tiredly opened her eyes, and tried to straighten up, but her fatigue and grief had worn her frail body down.
Edward sighed, running a hand through his red curls. “No, Madame. I’m afraid we will have to execute Operation White Rose.”
“So soon?”
“Yes, Madame Emmeline.”
“Then you must be the one who leads the mission,” she whispered, “For you are the only one I can trust.”
He squeezed her hand. “You can count on me, Madame. I will never let you or the little ones down.”
Men started to come in, all bringing with them swords and hammers, symbols of their ability to fight. Edward sighed and faced the window, peering at the falling leaves and gathered, bloodthirsty men outside bidding their wives goodbye, heart and soul humming a simple hymn the lost little maiden had taught him, that also now served as the rallying call for the Resistance:
Roses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ-child see.
But we shall the Christ-child see.
He straightened up and turned to face the group of men, faces all identical in their hatred for the Snow Queen and their grief for the two children lost to her, inwardly saddened by the pain and frustration that their town had experienced the past year; and his heart hardened, thoughts calmly gathered.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Let us now ascent the Helicopters.”
Part I ＊ Part II ＊ Part IV ＊ Part V ＊ Part VI＊ Part VII
Spoiler
This is the third part of my contest entry for SporkPunk's 21 Century Fairytale Contest! Please tell me what you thought of it. 
(This part is rated 12+ for one very small swear word.)
(This part is rated 12+ for one very small swear word.)
