The Price of Longing Read online

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  The child grew up as beautiful and vibrant as her mother who, while older than most mothers of girls that age, was still fresh enough to turn heads in the town square. The witch realized how odd it would look for an old lady to be raising a child, and did not want to make up stories about how the girl’s parents had died thereby leaving her, the grandmother, to raise her. She drank an herbal tea each day, upon waking, that kept her skin smooth, her hair golden, her voice lilting and her body lithe.

  The witch called the girl Rapunzel, after the true name of rampion, Rapunculus. From the moment the girl could hold a pestle, she was learning to grow and use herbs, learning their names and uses. The witch hesitated to teach her more than a little household magic; children were often destructive enough on their own, without supernatural forces to call upon. Besides, it gave her more sway over Rapunzel to have mysterious powers that only she could wield.

  She had always wanted a child of her own. She just never found the time. While other girls were dancing, picking flowers, or getting tumbled in barns, she was in the forest collecting plants, cultivating her garden, and learning ways to bend the world to her needs and her will. She consorted with fairies, with spirits of nature, and with darker spirits from beneath the earth. And her power grew.

  But soon the springtime of her life passed into winter, and even if her womb was not withered, no man would look at her now. In any case, they feared her, though they did come to her when they had great need, though her price was often high. The more she saw the glares and heard the whispers, the more she drew in away from people, bitter and full of hatred.

  But now, this girl… she had changed her. This was the life she could have had, had she not devoted herself to magic. But now she had both; the magic she craved, and the daughter she longed for. Where before she chafed at the proximity of people, jealously guarding her secrets, she now was teaching another. And the girl was eager to learn, and bright. She took to it naturally.

  It was when Rapunzel grew into a young woman that the witch began to worry. Now Rapunzel did not want to work in the garden because she didn’t want to get her hands or her clothing dirty. She would brush her waist-long, golden hair in front of a mirror until it shone. She wanted to go into town, to hang around the town square and make eyes at the boys. The witch knew where that led.

  “Do you want to end up like one of them?” she railed at Rapunzel one day, after hearing tell of a girl Rapunzel’s age who had become pregnant and was now to be married to one of the local farmers’ boys. “What if that had been you, swooning and falling for pretty words, letting him use you? And then you would be shackled to that life, toiling in the earth, baring babe after babe until it kills you, all of your knowledge and power gone to waste. You cannot be that kind of woman and this.”

  Rapunzel scowled, her pretty mouth screwing up. “Maybe I don’t want to be like you! Did you ever think of that? Alone, with your plants and your magic, lonely with no man. Maybe I want a husband and children—“

  “Fool wench!” the witch cursed, her voice roughening, “do you think that is glamorous? To have a brute beating you for the stew being too salty, filthy brats with runny noses climbing all over you, then the beast bends you over the bed and takes you again, to chain you down with another brat? You would choose that over power? Over the power to be forever young, to be able to have any man you wish, to cure any sickness?”

  Rapunzel grimaced, trying not to cry. She clenched her fists and raised her chin in defiance. “Gideon is not like that!” she cried. “And I love him, and we’re going to run away and you can’t stop us!”

  The witch locked eyes with her. Rapunzel was unable to look away. “Who,” the witch said, low and icy, “is Gideon?”

  Rapunzel shrugged, but her shoulders shook. “A boy from town.”

  “Did he touch you?” the witch demanded. “Did you let him touch you? Did you let him run his dirty hands all over you? DID HE?” She was screaming now. Rapunzel burst into tears. The witch did not relent. “What lies did he tell you? That he would love you, that he never felt this way about another? He will forget you in a fortnight,” she hissed viciously. Rapunzel continued to sob, cringing away under the onslaught. “You will go to find him and find him atop some other girl, her skirts up around her head, him hip-deep into her and then what will you do?” The witch pointed a finger, “What will you do, Rapunzel?”

  “No!” Rapunzel shouted, covering her ears with her hands.

  “You’ll be alone with a babe and no one to care for you, the shame of it on your back, the eyes and the whispers of the villagers haunting your sleep! Because he will leave you just like your father left me!” The witch’s eyes widened, surprised at how easily the lie came. Had she started to believe her own made-up life? She had bewitched herself somehow, or this girl had, into living this plain and simple existence. A mother and daughter. She shook herself. “I won’t let that happen,” she said, both to herself and her daughter. Rapunzel whimpered.

  The witch closed her eyes, and nodded. There was a whoosh of air, and the sounds outside changed. No longer was there the sound of carts rattling past, of ducks quacking by the pond. There was only the susurrus of a breeze through the branches, and the chirping of birds.

  Rapunzel took her hands off of her head, shocked out of her crying. She looked around, stunned, red eyes still seeping. “What did you do?” she choked out, breathless.

  “There will be no more dallying with boys in town,” the witch replied, a small, satisfied smile on her face. “And no fear of you running away either. Come.” She held out her hand. Against her will, Rapunzel placed her own in it. The witch led her outside, out their back door. The garden was still there, with the picket fence around it, but transplanted into a deep forest. Sunlight barely kissed the ground, filtered through the branches of the tallest trees Rapunzel had ever seen.

  “Stay here,” the witch commanded, and Rapunzel felt her feet fixed. Her mother continued to walk some twenty yards away. She stopped then, and placed her palms together at her heart, gathering power.

  “Spirits of the earth,” she whispered, in her old voice, the voice of gravel and ancient wood creaking in the wind, too softly for Rapunzel to hear. “Spirits of the earth, heed my call, raise up. Raise up!” She pushed her hands out to her sides. They crackled with unseen power. Then she reached down, as though grasping something, and pulled upward. There was a rumble and a crack as the earth shifted. Rapunzel watched, scared out of her mind, as a spire of stone tore up out of the earth and raced to the heavens. It stopped when it reached the height of the trees.

  Without looking, the witch gestured. Rapunzel felt her feet carry her forward. She stopped next to her mother, in front of the spire. It was rough, like a glacial boulder. The witch took hold of her hand and they rose up. Rapunzel gave a little squeak of surprise and fear. The ground dropped away beneath their feet, and soon they were level with the top of the tower, with a hole in the side like a window, and a hollow room beyond. They stepped through, and the witch released her hand. Rapunzel could move under her own power… but to where? She looked out the window; the height was dizzying. She clutched the sill for support.

  Behind her, her mother was calling things into being. Furniture, bedclothes, clothing, a fireplace, books. There was a chamberpot, the witch was explaining, that would magically empty itself. There was a wash basin that would magically fill itself. “I will bring you fresh food each day, and visit with you, and continue our lessons. We have been neglecting your studies, of late.” She said it all so brightly, as though it would be an exciting new adventure.

  Rapunzel’s shoulders began to shake again. “Hush now, don’t cry,” the witch soothed, putting her arms around her daughter comfortingly. “It’s for your own good, you know. Someday you will thank me.” She smiled sadly and wiped the tears from Rapunzel’s face. “No more tears, now. I am sorry I was so rough with you. I just want to protect you. You are young, and thi
s is a confusing time, and you do not know your own mind. You will hurt yourself, unless I stop you. Now you just relax. You are tired, I can tell. Lay down and take a rest; I will bring you dinner in a few hours.” The witch kissed Rapunzel on the cheek and jumped out the window. She floated gently to the ground, her skirts puffing out around her.

  Rapunzel threw herself onto the huge, soft bed and wailed into her pillow. Trapped. Her mother had imprisoned her. She cried. Gideon had only ever kissed her once, on the lips, though that one kiss had made her ache for more, and other things besides. She punched her pillow. Why was her mother such an old witch? Was she ever young? Did she ever feel this way? She thought about what her mother had said about her father and wondered if it was true. She had never mentioned Rapunzel’s father before.

  “Why do I have to pay for her mistakes? I’m not stupid! Besides, does she regret having me?” Rapunzel railed at no one in particular. Soon, her sobs turned to yawns and, the bed being so very soft and comfortable, she found herself falling asleep.