The pitcher was quivering nearby and I remembered that it had led me here. I still wanted to try and get some water from the river to feed the rose.
Of course, now the water was angry at me. I grabbed the pitcher and flattened my body out across the rocks so there was no way I could slip and fall, crawling forward on my hands and knees, even though the jagged rocks hurt my knees and my clothes were getting soaked. I clutched the pitcher tight and dipped it in the water.
A huge wave of water swept forward, drenching me, and I almost lost my grip on the pitcher. I tried to scramble back, scraping my knee, as the water lashed me again, this time spraying up into my face rather than down over my head. I choked on it, the horrid sensation of water in my nostrils, and blinked it out of my eyes, edging back blindly now.
I felt something grab my hand and try to yank me toward the river. A hand, formed of water, was pulling on me.
I struggled against the grip. I didn’t want to let the pitcher go. I tried to kick the watery arm, but it had no body except the river itself, and my strikes seemed to have no effect. I heard the sound of laughter.
“You’re the witch!” I shrieked. “A water fairy! Why did you curse him?”
He tricked my daughter! Stay away, my dear, he will only break your heart as he did hers!
“I don’t believe that. It’s been ten years! Whatever lesson you wanted to teach him, I think he’s learned!”
The water splashed up into my face again. Every inch of me was soaking wet, and the arm yanked me forward so I was about to lose my position on the rocks. In a moment I would be drowning—
But then the knife flew out and struck the arm, severing it, and it lost its grip on me, turning back into a river again. The knife slipped into the water and the river caught it up in a whirlpool.
“Knife!” I cried. I wished I knew its name. It was one of my king’s subjects, and if it was lost in the river, I would never knows its name or its face… I tried to reach for the knife, but the pitcher immediately tugged me back and I realized that the knife had chosen to sacrifice itself so that I might escape.
I scrambled backward and got to my feet as the river carried the knife away. I watched it disappear beneath the rocks where the river vanished through a tunnel.
I screamed with frustration and anger. I had lost one of Nyar’s subjects. The pitcher shivered in my hand, encouraging me to get away from the river before it tried to strike at me again.
I was biting back tears now as I picked my way over the rocks. I didn’t want the river witch to hear me cry.
When I was back in the safety of the hall, I tried to wipe my face on the hem of my soaked dress. “I’ll have to tell Nyar that I lost one of you…I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
The pitcher, of course, could not really reply. It just felt heavy in my hand.
I sloshed down the hall, shivering a little. My hair, my dress, my shoes…every inch of me was sopping. But before I dried off, I had to see if the water would revive the rose. At least then I would know the loss of the knife was not in vain.
I poured the water from the pitcher into the vase.
Almost immediately, the petals uncurled, looking fresh and soft as the day they were picked. I put my hand to my heart in relief. “So that’s a few more days,” I said. “But…it will be a risk to go to the grotto again.”
I stared into the petals of the rose, willing it to live forever, but I knew its life was fleeting and fragile.
“That must be the second test,” I said. “Was it to water the rose, or resist the lure of the water?”
The pitcher rattled in response, but I didn’t know what that meant, and I already knew the enchanted objects were forbidden from giving me definitive answers.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” I said. “That should mean I only have one more test to face, but…I’m sure it will be the hardest one.”
As I was speaking, I heard clinking, rattling and stomping farther down the hall. A broom was leading the way, swishing along the floor. Silverware hopped along; plates rolled; the grandfather clock was slowly edging forward. All the denizens of the castle began to gather around me in the front room, as if paying their respects.
The sight was heartbreaking, and a little eerie. I had such a sense of life around me, and yet there was no speech or breath, no footsteps, just the rather distressing sounds of household objects tumbling out of their proper places in life.
I didn’t know what to do but bow to them. “I suppose you know that one of the kitchen knives sacrificed him or herself for me, then. Well, for Nyar, really, as it should be. I believe he must have been a good king to you, for you all to serve him faithfully and try to help him like this. I wish I knew Knife’s real name. I wish I knew what to say. All I can do is promise you that I will do everything within my power to free you from this curse.” I looked at the painting of the dancing maidens. “You will see days like this again.”
One of the towels leapt up to dry my hair, and a nice dry dress flew up to hover in front of my face. Just as I started to wonder—were my clothes goblin spirits too?—I realized it was held up by two clothespins. I quickly whipped off my damp gown and replaced it with the new one. If I were ever lucky enough to be the goblin king’s bride, all his subjects would have seen me naked, but it was hard to be too self conscious when I assumed half the objects in my room had already seen a lot more…
The dress they had brought me was not from my wardrobe. It was much like the dresses in the portrait. A goblin dress, not a human dress. The skirt was shorter, for freer movement, and it had outer sleeves that went down to my elbows, but below that, just a shift that could be rolled up to bare my forearms. I had to unlace the bodice generously, because I obviously had larger breasts than most goblin women. The bodice and skirt were simple brown wool trimmed with thin gold braid, the only bit of flash.
I understood that the wardrobe had been stocked with dresses for human visitors, but the offering of this dress meant they had accepted me as one of their own. “Thank you for this,” I said. “It’s exactly how I like to dress.”
A spoon and a buttonhook were making attempts to unlace my wet boots. I took their cue and removed them, and my stockings too.
Now a pair of scissors came dancing up to me, snipping at me. It pointed at the painting and snipped, and then jumped up to my hair.
“You want to make a goblin maiden out of me, do you?” I pulled my braids loose. “Go right ahead. It’s a nuisance anyway. Just…” I eyed its vigorous motions nervously. “Be careful of my ears.”
As the towel wrapped around my shoulders, the scissors went to work, expertly shearing away hair it had taken years to grow. Should I have been horrified? Somehow I wasn’t. My head felt much lighter and when a hand mirror came dancing up to me and I had a look, I saw that my dark hair now formed fetching little curls around my neck and shoulders and a few locks tumbled across my brow in a way that looked messy but expertly planned.