Flying--Forever

The maiden had done this fighting for so long she doesn’t remember why the queen even hated her in the first place. She couldn’t even leave the premises without desire springing upon her like a lily opening up in full bloom. Well, that still clung to her like moss on the castle walls and garden rocks. The moss of desire. The desire to disappear into a land unlike anything like the castle she had known since little Jazzy Tracks took her first baby steps up those stairs only to be slapped by the queen and yelled at to get the scrubbing done. Crying, Jazzy Tracks had been swept away by one of the angry maidens to the baby chambers. That maiden, Jazzy Tracks shivered when remembering, was worked to death. When she cried out that she was just protecting an innocent little one, the queen summoned her overseer, who split her back into fifty bloody stripes. As the blood mingled with sweat, these maiden’s breath mingled with death.

The maiden’s head still flashed away with these memories. At least, these things are what the maidens told Jazzy Tracks when she was a lot older. But the stories were just as horrific. Brutal stoning and beheadings took place whenever the queen heard that she had lost to a maiden. All of these maidens had lost—but Jazzy Tracks.

Outside, the maiden dusted the patio furniture of the huge castle in which the indifferent, ignorant, selfish recluse of a queen lived. Pansies of every color spilled onto the camel hide canvases like their attractive colors were dyed into the queen's robes and dresses and jeweled crowns. The flowers' middles were blotched violet--like that of the queen’s heart with vanity and materialism—all around the castle, beautiful jewels reigned, always being added to at the queen’s complaining. Stained glass windows depicted women and men submitting and speaking with the queen. She talked to them, they to her and they did her bidding outside their little glass areas. But the queen’s frustration was as thick as her paintings’ paint. It even spilled over into rage, some stained glass men and women being shattered to pieces as the queen’s objects hurled at them. Only the painted ravens and swans flapping their wings and cawing stopped the monarch’s volcanic temper. But the sun’s heat was cold compared to the queen’s ire.       

Her little dragon friends—little light pink, baby blue, lime green, periwinkle and magenta flying beasts—flew outside the double doors. She stopped, exhaled and wiped her perspiring forehead. A cotton dress was a nightmare of an attire. The maiden almost fainted the other day. She unbuttoned a top button around her neck.

“I…I’m about to faint again!”

The lime green one widened its eyes. “Oh no! You’re not serious.” It flew around, stretching its paws towards her back. “No, you can’t faint again! She’ll just look out the window and yell for you to get up, get going and get finished.”

“Yeah…” The maiden took her skirts, hiked towards them and grabbed nearby shears. When she was done, she walked resolutely into the castle and up to the queen’s chambers.

“Yes?” The crowned woman’s back was to her.

“I’m wearing a lighter dress!”

After slamming the doors, the maiden’s dragon friends, especially the lime green one, appeared, happy she was done—for now. But her smile never appeared.

“What’s wrong?” The lime green one flew closer, laying a gentle paw on her shoulder. She jerked away. Tears filled her eyes. “The cotton too suffocating?”

“No! I won’t die a maiden.” She ran towards one of the stalls. Unlocking one of the doors, she ignored the lime green dragon’s command to stop frightening Trails, and mounted the horse. “Yah!”

“Jazzy Tracks, wait!”

But the lime green dragon’s voice fell on deaf ears as the maiden fled, her horse’s hooves pounding the earth. She kicked his side, and the horse ran, crossing the bridge over the river and then beating down a well-worn grassy path leading to the cobblestones treaded upon by all the townsfolk.

The maiden rode on, ignoring the dragon’s cries. Once at the peaceful lake, the maiden stretched, letting the tranquility of the aqua blue water wash away old feelings. . She breathed in the fresh air, letting her sandals clap with joy as she rejoined her horse. He munched away on some apples fallen from the nearby apple trees.

“Oh, Trails. We made it this far. If they find us, we won’t be captured. I won’t see you flogged.” She petted him, and he whinnied. She went over to his hind leg and looked around at his rear. Flinching and wincing at the red marks left by the queen’s overseer’s whip, the maiden blinked back tears. The horse she had raised since a little girl had been hurt severely! And the queen did nothing to stop the unfair cruelty. Last week, she was in the stocks, with her head higher than her hands, as townspeople and their children chided her, chucking fruit hard apples and oranges. They aimed for her head and mouth, but she never cared. The scent of fruit was enough to smile refreshingly after nearly fainting from a lack of a break and water. The queen’s punishment for running away.   

The maiden made her dress into a bathing suit, and took a little swim in the pond. Her horse nickered, but she turned around. “Oh, come on, Trails. It’s just a little relaxation!”

The horse’s eyes flared, and he reared, neighs causing her eyes to widen as well. Getting low into the water so as to only let her nose breathe the air, the maiden stared, frozen, at the trees behind the wild horse. Mentally commanding Trails to calm down, the maiden waited until all was clear. Suddenly, a lime green animal emerged cackling and pointing at the angry horse who stamped, ready to kick this fiend! 

“Oh, Jazzy Tracks! You should’ve seen the look on your face.” The laughing dragon held onto his scaly stomach. “Oh, my! That was the most fun I’ve ever seen.”

“Sister!”

The maiden got out of the water, ensuring her dress covered her body. She then took some cloth left nearby (for she observed the littlest things), sewing them into her dress, wearing everything. Gathering little sharp objects and turning them into sewing materials or kitchen utensils was something the maiden prided herself on. The queen may not say anything but give her servant a dull look, ordering her to go slave away in the kitchen. Some days, she let her gather fish for her friends, but the other servants had all moved away after the queen banished them for neglecting their chores. They were last seen running around, laughing and screaming with glee at the prospect of getting thrown into a nearby lake. Once the fun was over, it was over. No more games.

Unspeakable tragedies had happened to these girls. Screams from slit wrists, cut ankles and numerous floggings had filled the torture chambers along with the wailings of hundreds of servants. Tears would’ve drowned these women if they hadn’t wiped them away after being thrown out to finish their work. The queen just painted her paintings. She invented gorgeous black ravens and sinisterly beautiful swans. No hands had blistered, no face had tanned and no back had become a table for hay or wood or metal or stone to be carried to the other castles to heat the princess’ rooms or entertain the little princes with chalk and carvings.

The black ravens and white swans were after her. They came alive, she knew, from the queen’s paintings. She was hiding. That’s why she fled. She never got so far as the freaking tavern. The innkeeper strived to warn her, but Jazzy Tracks wouldn’t listen. She had to win. That was the only way she wouldn’t end up like those women back then. Fifty years ago, they were put to hard labor, sweating so much they’d collapse after exhaustion claimed their very lives. She didn’t want to die a maiden. Life was too beautiful and worth living.

Trails can kick those stupid birds anyhow! He’s not afraid.

Usually blood-red (which was taken from the dead maidens’ bloody scars), the queen painted something new every day on another canvas. Usually, a new friend to keep the maiden too scared to run away. She guarded the towers as a raven and handed maidens over to her mistress as a very young woman.

A friend to make the queen even more hated than she had been before. Studying her evergreen gowns and ruby diamonds, she ordered more ornaments (onyx, alabaster which the maidens had to hand carve into stained-glass windows and precious turquoise and silver-white stones) beautifying such a marvelously huge castle. No maiden bravely left the castles, seeking a living elsewhere. Only Jazzy Tracks, who consistently fought with the queen, had the guts to pull off the impossible. But the queen wasn’t done with her. And more terrifyingly, the queen never stopped. Paintings of maidens sowing gorgeous golden and white gowns or silver and scarlet-dressed horses for parades and festivals and announcements of the king’s horsemen entering war came alive, entertaining the queen. But the queen painted more paintings, striving to satisfy herself, painting after painting entertaining her. But she soon would paint more, never leaving her castle chambers. A walk outside happened every year. Paintings would come and go, but no painting kept a smile on her face. 

Jazzy Tracks smiled joyfully, knowing she didn’t have to turn into a human table for lethal scratches to tarnish the tender skin so tanned by the sun. A certain oil kept the sun from burning, but Jazzy Tracks stood there, letting the heat have its way by screaming its heat at her. She called Sister, and he flew over. “Yes, Your Majesty?” He threw out sarcastically.

She laughed. “Just get over here, you lazy thing!”

For it was true. Whenever the maiden went to go see her good friend, he was lying on a bed of hay, sucking on a little bone that had the flesh of a pig on it. Casting it aside, he sighed happily, one clawed foot over the knee of the other stick-skinny leg. Arms behind his head, he smiled contently. The other dragons hated him for his lack of desire to help, and the maiden chided him, but he cocked an eyebrow. “Hey—who built this little dragon den, huh?”

That was always the answer. The maiden just shook her head and walked away, laughing quietly to herself. She didn’t know what to do with him. And he didn’t care what others said. Let him be lazy.

 The dragon pointed, and the maiden looked behind her. She saw a woman behind one of the trees, a blood-red dress. Instantly, the maiden mounted her horse.

“Ma’am, are you—”

“From the painting sent to capture you, yes!”

“Ma’am, I’m never returning.” The maiden reared up on her horse, and they took off. Splashing into the water, the maiden panicked, needing bridges and other pathways on which to go. S She thought of some. Suddenly, they formed, carrying the two! The maiden, fear trickling down her, jerked back—the blood-red dress of the woman twisted and turned, her black hair turning into feathers of a—

“Raven! Let’s get out of here. Yah, Trails.”  

Trails beat his hooves faster against the bridge’s stones, but the maiden thought of swans—helpful ones—attacking the raven, killing them. Swans of all shapes and sizes and colors all flew overhead, but the deadly raven attacked them, injuring them. The maiden gripped Trails’ mane, ordering him to hurry up. The maiden looked around for Sister. He was nowhere to be seen. The maiden Then, Trails reared, eyes flashing with horror. The maiden imagined a cove that would drop rocks in front of it as to close the entrance. This thought became real. Dark as the torture chambers, the cove made the maiden hug her horse’s neck. He snorted like he was trying to get something out of his nose, and then reared, bucking.

“Trails—stop!”     

 Bucking and rearing and lunging at things he couldn’t see, angry screams ripped from his throat, echoing around the chamber. The terrified maiden sucked in a huge breath despite desperately trying to kick her horse into mollification. He slammed against the rocks until—

The cove became a stall. Trails calmed down, snorting. The maiden dismounted.

 The ravens and swans came diving into the scenery, the maiden mounting her horse, but the scared horse dashed off. The maiden thought of rock walls around her, but the ravens and swans morphed into people, she saw just as the huge rocks towered above her. She stood there, and slowly, they came down, the people having somehow cut through them. They cornered her, and reached out to grab her hair, her waist and her arms, yanking her away from her desert island. Her place of protection. She struggled against the bonds, but they were too tight around her. Fire flashed before her as one of the women put it to the hay on top of her and surrounding her.

Suddenly, a shriek, and Trails’ hooves left everyone bruised and knocked out. The maiden saw his teeth toss the torch. Yanking at the ropes, the maiden received freedom at the teeth of Trails and then they were off. In a faraway land, surrounded by Sister and his hardworking friends, the maiden whispered lovingly to Trails, him nodding his great grey head.

Trails lay down.     

When angry Trails ditched the maiden when she was attacked again, the maiden locked herself away. Sister tried helping her, but she refused. Sister replayed the whole events of fighting off the ravens and swans, which had gotten help from the evil blood-red dressed raven women. The queen was about to send her overseers down to flay the maiden. Any second now.

“Do something!” Sister yelled at the maiden. The maiden thought. Suddenly, they were transported to another world. Sister and his dragon friends relaxed—they didn’t care. But the maiden, tired of the laziness, watched the shooting stars around her land into beautiful puddles of water, changing the blue into gold, magenta or blood red.

The maiden knew she’d be a reminder of the lack of work going on around here, be enslaved with thousands of other servants. The maiden never replied. One day, an overseer showed up, a whip coiled around his hand. Then the overseer was flat on his back. The whip was in the maiden’s hand. She burned it. And let the overseer go with a promise—he’d never whip or torture another woman again. Or she’d use her imagination to dress him up as a slave, returning him to his mistress the queen.

Begging to be let free, the overseer left, promising he’d renew himself.

To this day, the maiden doubted he became new.

Years later, the maiden learned that the queen died. A new worse queen reigned. The maiden returned, ordering all whips to be burned and overseers to be flogged should any woman be found with blood running down their backs. The queen ordered the ravens and swans to attack her, looking for her should she flee. This queen painted, too. Continued the late queen in her paintings.

 The maiden left. Bursting into the stained glass windows on a unicorn, she broke every jewel and slashed every painting with her swords. Then she cornered the queen.

“I don’t know how long your long-distant cousin and I have been fighting, but it ends now!”

The queen just laughed, the maiden's sword in front of her as she circled around her. She was very young, brunette hair like her cousin's. But this queen also had overseers obeying her every whim; even the horses snapped to immediate attention, their nervous snorting and flattened ears telling the maiden once she had witnessed this reign for long enough this young woman was no ruler. She didn't rule with her kingdom; people dreaded her.

"You think you can stop me? I see you admire my kingdom." She waved a hand. "Please--go around the taverns and discuss with the townsfolk. They fear me. You should, too!"

But the maiden's determined face stayed silent. She circled around her, her sword extended, her eyes locked on the witch, her sickly thorny crown reminding her of the late queen's tyrannical reign. The maiden kept her distance, always keeping an eye on the woman, who relaxed against her throne, wishing she had someone to do yardwork and chores for her. Widening her eyes excitedly, she reminded the maiden she was the one who needed to do those things. After telling the queen she was just some murderess out there somewhere, the maiden rode away with one of the queen’s horses as the queen commanded her guards, her yells resounding outside the queen's chambers. The maiden burned her servant outfits, along with the other maidens' outfits. She burned all cotton outfits, every one she could find.

But word came that the maiden’s queen did not die. The ravens and swans healed her.

The maiden blinked back tears whenever Trails came to mind. She knew Trails hadn’t truly left her. She jumped off the horse, it breaking into a savage run, abandoning its rider.

Ravens and swans fell by the thousands as the maiden swung her imagined sword.

“This fight will be over!” She thundered. Trails caught her after every jump and swing. Dead birds disappeared. Cats—tigers, cougars and lions—all got struck in the nose. The battle waged for decades.

The maiden finally escaped on Trails.

They slept together, her head on his neck as she lay opposite him. He snorted, wanting to fight! 

She was too tired. He calmed down at a gesture from her hand, and nuzzled her neck. She petted his side.

In his new self-made dragon den with his friends, Sister laughed, a smoking pipe in his mouth. And then he closed his eyes. Everyone slept.

Soundly.