Potato

Ben Payne

        

        It was midway through my two-hundred-and-twenty-third battle with the Arch Wizard Althoffer that things first began to go awry.

        I recall it quite clearly. It was a delightful summer’s day, and I had just drawn breath and was preparing to launch my deadly (though only to evil creatures) Big Blue Lightning Bolt spell. I was already composing a witty post-spell remark when, without any warning, a large unwashed potato appeared on the floor at my feet.

        I’d seen a potato before, of course. Granted, those I’d seen in the past had been politely circular, with none of the grotesque green blotches that marked this one. But I had little trouble in dealing with such trivial peculiarities. Nevertheless, its sudden, unprompted materialization was far from accepted tubular behavior, and in my surprise I took a step backward, whereupon I overbalanced and tumbled into the pigs’ water trough.

        Needless to say, this caused my Arch Nemesis no end of amusement. And although I quickly recovered and silenced his laughter with a barrage of clever and powerful spells, I could not shake the feeling of vague discomfort that the event had provoked in me.

        

        I set out, as I always did in times of such unease, to visit my Lady Arabella.

        Her family’s manor lay across the river. It was, if I may say, embarrassingly meager compared to my own estates. But my lady’s beauty was more than adequate compensation.

        “Your ladyship,” her servant cried as I approached. “Prince William is here to see you.”

        She entered, as she always did, by descending the grand central staircase that dominated the entrance hall. Her long gown trailed behind her, and her feet were hidden from view so that it appeared she floated toward me, truly some divine apparition!

        “My prince!” she cried, and I swept her into my arms. “Ah,” she breathed. “I have been too long without your embrace.”

        As we stood, gazing lovingly into one another’s eyes, I was suddenly struck by the feeling that something, somehow, wasn’t quite right. It took me several moments to work out what it was. For as long as I had known her, my lady had always been immaculately groomed. Today, however, I couldn’t help but notice that her hair appeared—well, somewhat greasy and bedraggled.

        It was of no great concern, of course, and I quickly stifled the urge to vomit. No doubt she had simply woken a little off-color, and had neglected to prepare herself with her usual care. Combined with my earlier encounter with the wayward vegetable, though, it did serve to unsettle me a little.

        “My lady,” I began, anxious to unburden myself, but before I could proceed she placed a (fortunately clean) finger over my lips and silenced me.

        “Oh, but my poor love,”—her brow knitted in concern—“I had completely forgotten about your great battle! Come, sit with me a while in the parlor and tell me all about it.”

        Suddenly, basking in the love that radiated from those soft brown eyes, stringy hair and truant potatoes seemed the most piffling of trifles. And so instead I busied myself with constructing a slightly more heroic version of the day’s events with which to regale her. Her reaction was all one could have wished. She swooned with each attack, cheered with each rebuttal, and I returned home that evening with the feeling that all was right with the world.

        Nothing could have been further from the truth.

        

        

        I awoke the next morning to the realization that I was not, in fact, a prince.

        Needless to say, this caused me some concern. Everybody I knew called me “Prince William.” I had always thought of myself the same way. But, thinking back now, I could not for the life of me figure out why. I wasn’t part of any royal family. Indeed, I had never even met anybody of royal blood.

        I tried to put matters into perspective as I took my bath. The more I thought about it, the more the notion that I was a prince seemed foreign, as though it were something I had dreamt. Sometimes, after all, I would dream I was an innkeeper, or a mountain troll, and awake convinced that this was the case. Perhaps I had simply had a particularly vivid dream, which had managed to weave itself into my memories and beliefs.

        Or perhaps, whispered a tiny voice in the back of my mind, it had something to do with the potato.

        

        

        Thursday was dragon slaying day.

        I set off briskly, anxious to banish all uncomfortable thoughts with a healthy bout of heroism. Passing through the village, however, I was taken aback to see my Lady Arabella pulling water from the well!

        “My lady!” I cried, reigning in my horse and dismounting to come to her aid. “What brings you to the village? Are all the servants ill?”

        She lifted her head, and I was surprised to see that her forehead was furrowed with ugly lines. Had they always been there, I wondered, hidden beneath her demure visage? Or had she, too, changed overnight?

        “I need water, William,” she said, her voice weary. Her eyes met mine, but they were devoid of their customary warmth. She waved an insect away from her face with a hand.

        I was greatly disturbed. “Well, then,” I declared as confidently as I could, “allow me to help you.”

        Arabella stood back and allowed me to haul the water forth, and indeed, when I had done so, she gave me a smile that restored somewhat my ailing spirits. “Thank you,” she said, and planted a kiss on my cheek. Although not the passion which I might ordinarily expect, under the circumstances it was a considerable relief.

        “A pleasure, my lady,” I said gallantly, and leapt onto my mount. “Now, if you will excuse me there are dragons to be slain.”

        My lady merely raised an eyebrow. Then she turned and walked away.

        

        

        A pattern was beginning to emerge and I did not at all like it. A potato was one thing. Stringy hair a forgivable oversight. A misplaced princehood was unusual, but not impossible to explain. My lady, suddenly so cold to me, and hauling water like a commoner, was distinctly disturbing, but no call to panic.

        However, the distinct non-emergence of dragons to facilitate my mid-morning slaying simply pushed chance too far. Never before had the vile beasts failed to appear for a battle, in particular when I was tense and in need of a good lancing. No, this was no natural occurrence. This was surely the work of meddlesome pixies, of a cursed gnome, or perhaps…

        My heart suddenly stopped. The Arch Wizard Althoffer! All of this had started during my battle with him, when that abominable vegetable had materialized from the pits of hell. Oh, yes, it was starting to fall into place now. He must have cast some sort of a spell.  A new, insidious enchantment that was capable of altering the shape of reality. Of conjuring up staple food, and magicking away royalties, and…

        No. No, these things were mere trifles to a wizard such as Althoffer. Simply obstacles to confuse and waylay me, so that I might not realize his greater goal.

        My Lady Arabella!

        

        

        I sped my charger on as fast as was possible, given the creature’s sudden predilection for balking at anything larger than an acorn. With every second that passed I grew more fearful for my lady’s safety. What diabolical plan did the Arch Wizard have in mind for her?

        At last I reached her manor, and was not surprised to find it shrunk to less than half its normal size. Nor was I surprised that no servants greeted me as I made my way to the door.

        I knocked twice, then again a moment later. There was no answer. Oh, by the gods, I thought, let me not be too late. Roaring my lady’s name, I charged the door.

        It was somewhat sturdier than I had remembered. I was still seated on the porch, nursing my bruised shoulder and cursing my Arch Nemesis, when it opened unexpectedly with a creak.

        “Hello, William.”

        I leapt to my feet. My lady stood before me, alive and well! Granted, her hair was a mess, and she wore a simple tunic and breeches, but at that moment I cared not one jot.

        “My lady…” I stammered. “I knocked.”  My relief left me momentarily lost for words. She was alive! I took a step towards her, my arms wide. “Thank the gods you are all right.”

        She stepped back, and I nearly lost balance. “William, what do you want?”

        I was taken aback by her fearsome expression. Perhaps I had interrupted her repose. “I apologize, my lady,” I said, bowing before her. “I was concerned for your safety.”

        “Go home, William,” she said flatly. I opened my mouth to protest, to warn her of the danger she was in, when I caught sight of a movement behind her. At first I feared it was one of Althoffer’s minions, come to do his evil bidding. Perhaps, in a sense, I was right. The young man came to stand behind her in the doorway, his thick chest unclad, and slid an arm around her waist, eyeing me coldly. And the final strand of the tapestry fell into place.

        Oh, my Arch Nemesis had been far more devious than I had ever suspected. He had found a way to hurt me more than any sword or dragon could hope to do. For a moment that seemed an eternity, I stood in silence, feeling the world I knew slide away from me as my insides burnt. In that long second I felt a myriad of emotions. Anger was the first to find a voice.

        “What is the meaning of this?” I whispered.

        She turned to the boy at her side, and he nodded, as though receiving some secret signal and departed, leaving us alone.

        “My lady—” I began.

        “William, I am not yours,” she interrupted. “I was never yours.”

        I opened my mouth to protest, but found myself confounded, lost for words. What could I say to her? What would penetrate the evil mage’s spell, and reach the one I loved?

        Perhaps she could see the hurt in my eyes, for her own softened, and in that second I thought I caught a glimpse of the true Arabella, beneath the enchantment. But when she spoke, all of my hopes were destroyed.

        “I’m sorry, William,” she said softly. “You were kind to me, and I thank you. And I do enjoy your company. But I do not love you.”

        With those words I knew that I had lost her.

        

        

        There was only one person to whom I could turn, only one man who could possibly help me. I cursed myself for not having turned to him earlier.

        The Wise One.

        Bob had lived in the hills above my estate (now a humble cottage) for as long as I could remember. He had advised my father, and my grandfather before him, and his advice was recognized throughout the land as the most sage that could be found.

        I greeted him with the customary cow.

        “Prince William,” he smiled, and a shiver ran down my spine. He had called me a prince! I had been correct. This was not merely all the product of a disease engulfing my mind, but was indeed the work of my dreaded enemy. “How may I help you?”

        So relieved was I to find somebody who recognized me, and so desperate for a solution to my lady’s condition, that I found myself spilling forth my tale with scarcely a pause from beginning to end. Bob nodded sagely, as was his way, and listened carefully. When I had finished, he nodded once more for good measure, then fixed me with his fathomless black eyes.

        “Show me your vegetable patch,” was all he said.

        

        

        I must admit I found the request a strange one, but a Wise One is a Wise One after all, and so I took him to my home, and showed him the small garden that had once supplied the kitchen with food for the castle.

        “Just as I thought,” he muttered. “Poisoned potatoes.”

        “What?” I stared at the vegetables in confusion.

        He bent and uprooted a spud. “Evil potatoes. They alter the fabric of reality. Destroy a man’s dreams. I’ve seen it before.” Before I could reply he raised a hand. “Don’t worry, lad. Your vegetables are not beyond salvation.”

        “You mean…” I was scarcely willing to hope that the spell might be undone, that I might someday hold my lady in my arms once again.

        Bob stared at me intently. “You must go to her, William,” he said, as though he had read my thoughts. “You must try to prevent her from slipping any further into the mire. I shall do what I can here.”

        I needed no further urging. There was hope! Perhaps all was not yet lost.

        

        I returned to her that afternoon, and although she seemed wary, she let me in. The Wise One had warned me to take care, lest by pushing her too hard I should frighten her from me, and lose her forever. And so I made no attempt to romance her, nor did I mention the Arch Wizard or his evil plan. Instead, I conversed with her on shallow topics, attempting to ascertain the limits of her bewitchment.

        It was indeed as bad as I had feared. Where, in the past, my lady had been ardently attentive to my feelings and beliefs, earnestly urging me on that she might understand the workings of my soul all the more, now she seemed for the most part indifferent, unless I raised some opinion with which she disagreed, at which point she would unleash a torrent of argument which seemed designed to flay the very skin from my bones.

        I was truly disturbed. Whereas once we had seemed to inhabit one mind, now she seemed something foreign to me. Nevertheless, I persevered. I listened to all that she said, and attempted to modify my arguments slightly, to reach some form of compromise.

        “Perhaps you are correct,” I granted at one point, for example, “in your estimation that the poor are often as brave and as capable as the rich. However, thievery is scarcely a significant rebuttal to social barriers, particularly if one is stealing from those of a similar station.”

        “Rubbish,” she replied, not accepting my olive branch. “You can’t judge the actions of others based on a sense of morality which stems from a life of privilege. Perhaps when you have suffered social injustice yourself, you might speak with less pomposity.”

        And so it went.

        Occasionally she would agree with me upon some matter or other, and for a brief moment I would dare to hope that perhaps the connection between us was not irreparably severed. However, even on such occasions she seemed blind to the feelings we had once had, accepting my agreement as one might accept the acquiescence of one’s courtiers.

        Night fell, and I returned home despondent. Bob was still there, staring at the vegetable patch in bemusement. I fell into an exhausted sleep, and awakened early the next morning to begin the ordeal all over again. Many times, in those first few days, I felt tempted to give in, to yield to the Arch Wizard’s might and to abandon all hope of recovering my lost love. Only my memories sustained me. The thoughts of the times my lady and I had shared, the beauty of her visage, aglow with radiant devotion. Without such thoughts I would happily have abandoned the transformed Arabella to her bitterness, and to her many lovers.

        For there were many. My Arch Nemesis knew well how to torture his foe, and during those days it seemed that scarcely a morning or an afternoon would pass without some wastrel accosting her at her door. Many of these she scorned, but an equal number she welcomed into her bedchambers, leaving me seated in the kitchen with no escape from the filthy sounds emitting from within. As great as the hurt was, I was not able to leave, to walk away. Somewhere within, she was still my lady.

        Always, she would rejoin me some time afterwards, and we would resume our conversation. It was at one such moment, having silently endured for many days this torment, that my patience finally wore out, and I found that I could contain myself no longer.

        “How can you treat yourself so?” I spat. “You lower yourself to the gutter when you take in such scum. These men…” I stammered, angry beyond rational thought, “if such they may be termed…these men do not care for you! To them you are little more than a harlot!” I knew, in the furthest regions of my mind, that I had gone too far. But I could not stop. “You expend your efforts, your time, your emotions on them, as though they offered you all the kingdoms of heaven, when all they offer is the mouthing of mindless platitudes and a speedy erasure of memory. And the desperate dignity which exists only in its own immolation!” I could feel tears of frustration welling in my eyes, and willed them to stop, aware of the unmanly vision I must cut. But I could not contain them. “Does such a life,” I breathed, “truly make you happy?”

        She looked down at the ground, and shook her head, slowly.

        “When there is one here,” I continued, daring to hope, just a little, that I was reaching her, “who loves you so painfully, so all-consumingly, so full of indefatigable torrents, that even thoughts of lost kingdoms and shattered crowns dissipate by comparison like egg shells upon an autumn breeze…” I stared at her, willing her to understand, to find the strength to break through the sorcery that enfolded her.

        She lifted her eyes to mine. When she spoke, her voice was soft, quiet. “You cannot love me, William,” she said sadly. I began to protest, but before I could utter a word, she continued. “If you were to love me, how then is it possible that I should feel absolutely nothing for you?”

        I opened my mouth, but no words came.

        

        

        I returned home, my thoughts clad in garments as black as night. My mind and body were drained, empty shells. For several long hours I sat, staring into the fire with scarcely a thought in my head, numb to all pain both inside and out.

        I was no prince. I was scarcely the equal of a normal man. My lady would never love me, no matter what I might do, or say. No matter how deep the currents of my devotion. She simply felt nothing. It was as simple as it was inescapable. I might slay a thousand dragons, conquer a thousand kingdoms, defeat an infinite number of Arch Wizards. Never would she feel for me as I did for her.

        So deeply was I immersed in my despair that I did not hear Bob enter. I did not even register his presence until he spoke.

        “I have done it,” he said. “I have broken the enchantment.”

        

        

        It took several days for the vegetable patch to recover. The areas where the poisoned potatoes had grown were, Bob warned, permanently tainted, and I must not plant there again, lest the spell be reactivated. However, the vegetables around these clumps already seemed healthier. And there was something else, a certain scent in the air, which told me the curse had been lifted.

        At the sage’s advisement, I left my lady alone. She would need several days to recover from such a powerful hex, he warned. I spent the time re-acquainting myself with my life. I slew seven dragons, and spent several days riding past people, just to see whether they bowed to me. And of course, I sought the Arch Wizard. My enemy, however, had gone into hiding, and was not to be found. No doubt he feared my vengeance, as well he might. He had almost cost me everything, and I would make sure I exacted a fitting retribution.

        After three days had passed, I finally ventured out to visit Arabella, my heart filled with trepidation. The rest of the spell had been successfully reversed, it was true, but what if this one effect lingered on? Furthermore, I could not force from my mind my lady’s actions over the recent weeks. Would she remember the things she had done? Would they taint her, prevent her from ever truly becoming once again her true self, the woman I loved?

        As I approached her abode, her servant called out, informing her of my arrival. I held my breath and waited. Just as I thought the anticipation would end me, the door to the house flew open and my lady came forth. Instantly my worries vanished. The look on her face was one of pure adoration, as if the past few weeks had been peeled away, like an actor’s mask. She flung herself into my arms and clung tightly to me, as though it were I and not she who had been in danger of disappearing.

        “Oh, my love,” she said, trembling as she clung to me. “Truly it feels as though we have spent a lifetime apart.”

        “Indeed it does,” I replied with some feeling. For a long time we stood there, entwined, and neither of us spoke.

        “My lady,” I said hesitantly, at last. “Tell me what you remember of the last week.” I was afraid to ask, and yet I could not stop myself. I had to know whether the Arch Wizard’s spell had permanently affected her mind, whether she would ever, truly, be mine again.

        She frowned, and for a moment I feared that I had unwittingly forced her to recall events which otherwise may have remained hidden. “I…am unsure,” she said at last. “I feel as though I have been long asleep, troubled by unpleasant dreams. But their substance eludes me.”

        I smiled, relieved. “Indeed, you have been asleep,” I reassured her. “You were under a spell, cast by my Arch Nemesis with the aim of taking you from my side.” Her eyes grew fearful. “A futile attempt, of course. You remain, and you shall always remain, my Lady Arabella.”

        She smiled back, and warmth filled my heart. And in that moment I believed with all my soul that it was true.

        

        

        The weeks passed in a blur. My lady and I spent more time together than ever before, partly due to my own fear that should she leave my side some further evil might befall her. As more time passed, however, our lives returned to some semblance of their former selves. I fell back into the familiar routine of dragon slaying and wizard hunting by day, and basking in my lady’s love by night.

        And yet something continued to trouble me. It lurked in the back of my mind, in the periphery of my imagination, never allowing itself to be fully seen, and yet making its presence felt. I began to fear that the Arch Wizard’s spell had not been completely dispelled, that some small effect still remained. But wherever I looked, everything seemed just as it had before the spell had taken hold.

        Finally, one day, as I was riding over the hill approaching my lady’s abode, it hit me, like a mace in the face.

        I wasn’t happy.

        It took some time for the implication to sink in. I had everything I had ever wanted. My lady was returned to me, as kind, as gentle, as loving as ever. And yet I wasn’t happy. It was ludicrous, I told myself. But I could not deny it.

        I continued on, and my lady greeted me as she always did, with a doting smile and a loving embrace. This was what I had longed for, I reminded myself. This was what had kept me going, through all those long nights when she lay under the Arch Wizard’s spell. This was what I had struggled through all of those difficult and painful hours with the other Arabella in aid of—so that one day I might regain my true love.

        But it was no use. Something had changed, and this time I feared it was me.

        I missed her. It was insane, but I could not pretend otherwise. I missed her, the way she was. The other her. I missed the way she would disagree with me, the way we would argue over petty trivialities. Talking with her current incarnation now seemed somehow like a hoax, a charade. For the first time in my life, I found that I disliked the way she deferred to all my views, as though her own mind were as empty as a butcher’s cornfield. I missed her strength, her passion, which had somehow seemed stronger for its uncertainty. She had not been perfect. But she had been…true.

        Had the spell corrupted me? I wondered, even as I knew it was not so. My lady was returned to me, but she was not what I wanted. I wondered, now, how I could ever have been happy this way. Certainly she loved me. Her adoration knew no bounds. But it was as shallow as a puddle caused by rain. The other Arabella, the one who was not my lady, had not loved me, it was true, and yet she had given me more than this cipherous creature ever could.

        A week ago I would have thought myself mad. Perhaps I was. But now all I wanted was to go back. The Arch Wizard’s spell had been a blessing, not a curse. It was I, in my foolish arrogance, who had cast the evil spell. And now it must be undone.

        

        

        I returned to Bob with another cow, and told him what I wanted to do. He smiled.

        “Well,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever learn.”

        He led me back to the vegetable patch and shook his head. “It is not as simple as you might think,” he said. “The fabric of reality is delicate. There is no guarantee that replanting in the poisoned soil will have the same effect as before.”

        My heart sank. “You mean I might never get her back?” I cursed my stupidity. If only I had known. But of course, I hadn’t.

        “Perhaps,” Bob shrugged. “In any case, all any of us can do is try.”

        “You mean…”

        He bowed his head. “Yes. I too have made my mistakes.”

        

        

        And so I sit, as the afternoon light fades, day after day, tending to my garden. I have planted poisoned potato after poisoned potato, but so far none has brought Arabella back to me. Perhaps they never shall.

        Even if she does return, perhaps she will want nothing to do with me. I do not delude myself. Perhaps I will spend the rest of my life yearning for that which I can never have.

        But I cannot give in. I shall continue planting poisoned potatoes. And perhaps one day, if just for the briefest moment, I shall hold her head next to my heart, and with my shaking, unsure hands, gently trace the lines upon her face.

         

Copyright 2008, Ben Payne

Cover: "Wizard and the Cloud Dragon"

The old wizard and a dragon find their place in the world together.

Copyright 2008, Michelle J. A. McIntyre

Specializing in colored pencil works on fiber-enhanced paper, more of the work of Michelle J.A. McIntyre can be found on her Webpage < www.fantasyrealmcreations.com > and online store < www.cafepress.com/pawgifts >. She creates a variety of fantasy art subject matter including dragons, unicorns, gryphons, fairies, and centaurs.