Prologue

I first heard the tale from the old fairy's wrinkled lips, stirring something lost within me.  A princess was born to an overjoyed king and queen and all the fairies throughout the kingdom were invited to her grand christening, except for the old fairy.  Furious that she had been overlooked, the old fairy descended upon the grand christening and cursed the fair princess.  "On her sixteenth birthday the princess shall pierce her hand on a spindle and fall down dead!" she screeched and with mutterings of satisfaction, she hobbled out of the palace doors.  She waited in the darkness.  There was always some young snippet of a fairy who thought she could outwit her.  She listened against the howl of the wind and heard, "Assure yourselves, my King and Queen.  Your daughter will not die.  I have no power to undo entirely what my elder has done.  The princess shall indeed pierce her hand with a spindle; but, instead of dying, she shall only fall into a profound sleep which shall last a hundred years at the expiration of which a prince shall awaken her."

"Ah, clever, but not clever enough.  The princess will sleep instead, but not for one hundred years, but forever, and no prince will awaken her, I shall make sure of that," the old fairy cackled.

Years passed and soon the princess was sixteen.  While exploring the palace, she found a long-forgotten tower.  She climbed the stairs and came to a little room at the top.  There, the old fairy sat spinning.  "Pray, tell me granny, what are you doing?" the princess inquired curiously with her sweet voice.  She had never seen a spinning wheel before as the king had had them banned from the kingdom.

"I am spinning, my beautiful child," the old fairy replied just as sweetly.

"Oh," said the princess, "may I have a turn?"

She had no sooner taken the spindle in her hand when it pierced her and she fell down in slumber.  With a wave of her shrivelled hand, the old fairy opened up the princess' breast and drew out her heart.

"Sleep forever princess, as your heart beats elsewhere, where none shall find it," and the old fairy sealed up her breast.

"One hundred years have come and gone, and she sleeps there still," the old fairy said laughing.  "In that forgotten tower, tangled in brambles with thorns like sabres.  And, she is still as beautiful as she ever was..."

Lightning flashes and its silver shard cuts through the darkened corridors of my mind and I remember as the rain falls on my face.  Yes, the princess was just as beautiful even when her heart was stolen from her.  I know.  I have loved her all my life.  For, I was there.

***

The raven was hungry.  He had scouted the land and had found nothing but monotonous rolling hills of green.  The sun shone hotly from its piercing blue sky, baking his feathers.  Silently, he cursed his creator wishing his feathers were white like a dove's, and not pitch black and too welcoming to the sun's rays.  He would have to find shade soon.  He drifted aimlessly on the weak breath of the wind until finally, he spied a small patch of rich brown soil where plump pumpkins lay, gleaming orange-gold in the sun.  Standing in the middle of these beauties was a scarecrow.  He hung upon his stake, harmless.  The raven wondered for a moment, why he was dressed so richly.  Anyway, he looked like he was sleeping, that was all that mattered.  He dove downwards.  Just as he was about to spear the skin of the fattest pumpkin, something grabbed and pricked him.  He looked up and croaked in protest.

"Ow! Watch your prickly straw there!"

The scarecrow looked down at him and smiled.  "Oh, I am sorry.  You would think these silk gloves would help."

"Well they don't," fumed the raven.  "Let me go!"

"You are not allowed to touch the pumpkins.  They belong to my master."

"Alright, I understand, I won't touch them," the raven croaked reluctantly.

The scarecrow let him go.  "Ha!" the raven spat, his pride rather ruffled, "At least I'm going somewhere, Pumpkin Prince!"  The scarecrow reached out to grab him, but the raven flew out of his reach and sped to the sky.

The scarecrow sighed, what the raven said hurt a little, but he was a scarecrow what else was he supposed to do but guard the pumpkins.  That was all he had ever known.  Still, he wondered about himself.  When the rain left puddles he saw his reflection, with his blue sapphire eyes and golden hair, dressed in a dark purple tunic of velvet belted with gold, and leggings with soft leather boots.  He had white silk gloves and a jaunty felt hat with a scarlet feather.  He knew he looked different from other scarecrows from the tales the birds told him when they tried to steal a bite from the pumpkins.  They wore old clothes, had straw hats and looked menacing and evil, hanging from their stakes like vultures.  He on the other hand, was so different.  Why was he made this way?  He slumped dejectedly on his stake.  Maybe that was just the way his master made him, but to be a prince, he mused, what would it be like to roam the world?

***

The sky darkened and the first glimmerings of stars tiptoed across the azure night.  The scarecrow could smell his master's pumpkin soup wafting on the wind.  He fancied that he could taste its thick, creamy sweetness but his straw-filled belly did not hunger for it.

"You performed well today, as usual, scarecrow.  Not one of my pumpkins marred by the beaks of those scavengers," his master had said, pleased.  "Continue to guard my pumpkins as well as you do now, or endure my wrath.  I love my pumpkin soup too much." 

The scarecrow rested his head on his shoulder and drifted to sleep.  Winged dreams brought him to a castle and a beautiful young princess who smiled at him and held him in her arms.  Then, she was crying.  Ropes bound him tightly to a crude wooden stake and he hung there helpless.  He could not move or speak.  Paralysed, he watched the princess fall to the stone floor.  He felt the sharpness of a spindle plunge into his heart and as he fell, he saw his shattered reflection in the princess' tears.  It was not a scarecrow he saw, but a prince.

When the scarecrow awoke, he was lying in the grass not far from the pumpkin patch. The ropes that used to bind him to his stake surrounded him in broken shreds.

"How you could stand being imprisoned on a stake guarding pumpkins of all things?" an amused voice asked.

"I'm a scarecrow, that's what I do," the scarecrow heard himself mumble.

"How very noble of you, Pumpkin Prince."

The scarecrow got up shakily.  It felt strange to feel the earth that he had dangled above, beneath him.  He looked towards the direction of the voice and saw the raven perched primly on his stake.

"Not you again," sighed the scarecrow.  "Did you damage my bindings?"

"You should be thanking me, straw head, I gave you freedom," the raven announced pompously.

"What freedom?" the scarecrow asked.  "My master will just have to put me back on my stake.  Now, be on your way, raven, and bother me no more.  Don't think you can try to steal some pump -"

The scarecrow looked in horror at the pumpkins.  Their skins were gouged and slashed, their wounds oozing muddied flesh.

"I should have done that a long time ago, like when I was starving, but it was only just now that I remembered..." the raven croaked.  The scarecrow wasn't listening to the raven.

"My master will surely give me to the horses for lunch!" the scarecrow cried.  "What am I to do?"

"Leave," the raven squawked.  "Besides, I have a much better job for you than guarding those rotting pumpkins.  You are going to help me rescue a princess."  

"A princess?" the scarecrow murmured, remembering his dream.  The raven spread his wings and flew off the stake.

"Wait!" the scarecrow shouted, running awkwardly after the raven.  "What princess?"

"There is a princess who was cursed to eternal sleep when her hand pierced a spindle."  The dream came flooding back to the scarecrow 

"How do you know this?" he asked.

"I just know," the raven snapped. 

The scarecrow thought of his dream and the princess who had smiled at him and held him in her arms.  He felt himself bound to his stake watching her fall, and looked back at his stake amongst the ruined pumpkins.  He was free, free to save her.  He now knew there had to be more than being a scarecrow, scaring away birds and guarding pumpkins he could never taste.  He could be a prince! 

"My master is going to be so angry," the scarecrow said, shaking his head.

"Your master," spat the raven, "is the old fairy that cursed the princess!"

“My master is the old fairy that cursed the princess?”

“Believe me, if there is a bird that disturbs me besides the peacock, it is a parrot.”

“But how? Why?”

The raven sighed and settled down on the scarecrow’s shoulder.  “The old crone wasn’t invited to the princess’ christening.  She couldn’t take rejection, so she took it out on the princess.”

The scarecrow stopped walking.  “Do you think that maybe the old fairy cursed me too?”

“Cursed you…how?”

“Well,” the scarecrow looked a little embarrassed.  “I just wondered maybe I could be…”

“A prince?” the raven croaked in laughter.  “You’ve been dreaming.”

“I have…” whispered the scarecrow.  The raven didn’t hear him.

“Let’s try moving, better, let’s try running.  The old witch isn’t going to be pleased when her belly rumbles for pumpkin soup eh?” the raven said, letting out a croaky burp.

Dusk was wandering over the land when they reached the outskirts of a forest. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Keep on going,” the raven squawked impatiently.

“It’s getting dark, and I’m getting tired,” the scarecrow said out of breath.

“Tired? Why I could go on for another day!”

“Perched like that on my shoulder, I’m not surprised.”

“You try eating a few pumpkins and see how you feel.  If I flew for too long I’d get indigestion.”

“You didn’t fly at all.”

“We will rest soon –“

“You slept the whole time.”

“You will rest soon.  We just have to find something in the forest.  It’s not too far away.”

With the raven falling asleep yet again on his shoulder, the scarecrow walked into the forest.  Fine oak and beech trees stood as sentinels their branches creating intricate windows to the sky overhead.  The scarecrow trod the forest floor carpeted with blueberries and sighed happily.  He walked with the wind that before had passed him by, like everything else.  In the near distance, the scarecrow saw a woodshed.  “Is that what we’re looking for?” the scarecrow asked, waking the raven.  The raven opened his eyes sleepily.  “Yes, that’s it.”

The scarecrow found an axe propped in the corner of the shed.  He picked it up and swung it around.  It whistled in the air, its sharp head gleaming in the fading, filtered light.  “What do we need this for?”

“To cut down all those nasty barriers guarding the princess’ tower.”

They found a glade and the scarecrow sat down on a log placing the axe beside him.  “I don’t suppose you are guarding any more pumpkin on your person?” the raven asked eagerly. 

“You’re still hungry?”

“All that walking and running has worked up an appetite.” 

“You think this tunic could carry anything?”

“No harm hoping,” the raven shrugged.  “I’ll see if there are any berries around here,” and he flew off.

The scarecrow looked down at his tunic.  He fingered the soft velvet and wondered if there were any pockets where he could carry something.  He felt around and found a hidden pocket close to his chest.  He pulled out a piece of folded paper.  It smelled faintly of roses.  Unfolding it and without knowing how, he read:

My Prince Rafael,

I sit here as the shadows lengthen and the sun that caresses your golden hair, sinks into the hills.  I dream of you when I am awake and when sleep claims me, it is your sapphire eyes I fall into.  My heart belongs to you. 

Princess Celina

“I am a prince, Prince Rafael,” the scarecrow whispered trembling.  “And the princess loves me.”

He felt the raven land on his shoulder.

“Ha!” the raven squawked with a beakful of berries.  “I knew the princess loved me! Who wouldn’t?”

The scarecrow turned so swiftly, that the raven was flung off his shoulder.

“Hey, watch it,” the raven cried, scooping up the fallen letter with his beak.  “Is that how you treat a prince?”

The scarecrow laughed uneasily.  “You, a prince? Now, you’re the one that’s dreaming.”  

“That’s what curses are all about,” sniffed the raven.  “But it won’t be long until I am looking like my handsome self again.”

“But that letter…Why did I have it? I thought I was the prince…”

“After hanging all your life in the sun looking after fat, good for nothing pumpkins for that prune of a fairy, I’d be wishing I was a prince too.  But, not to worry, you were destined for much much more…”

“And that is?” the scarecrow asked glumly.

“To return me to my princely, glorious form,” the raven said puffing in pride.

“I thought we were going to rescue the princess Celina.”

“We are, and she is going to save me.  You see, one of my friends used to be a frog.”  The scarecrow gave him a strange look.

“Yes, I know.  I didn’t believe him either until now…Anyway, he told me that after spending a night with a princess, he turned back into a prince.  Of course, that included the princess throwing him against the wall, but the princess Celina won’t do that to me.  She loves me!”

“And who cursed you?”

“That miserable old fairy.”

“Why did she do it?”

“Who cares why,” the raven shrugged indifferently.  “I’m tired,” and before the scarecrow could prod further, the raven had flown to a low hanging branch and fallen asleep.

In the waning moonlight, the scarecrow watched the slumbering raven.  So, he was a prince, the prince Rafael, and the princess loved him.  And he…He was just a scarecrow who had looked after pumpkins for an evil fairy.  Now, he was working for somebody else.  But…

“I was there with the princess,” whispered the scarecrow, “I was there.”

***

“Hey raven, are you sure you know where we’re going?” the scarecrow turned to the raven on his shoulder.  They had set off early, although the raven had wanted to sleep in.

“Of course I do,” the raven retorted.  I have hunted these woods many a time.”

“For rats?”

“I am not raven, I am the prince Rafael,” the raven held himself proudly.  “Address me respectfully.  I caught deer, I caught boar, you name it, I caught it.  Those hunting parties were the best of times.”

“How about rats, your highness?”

“I don’t eat rats!”

“What do they taste like o prince?”

The scarecrow smiled to himself as the raven gave him a withering stare.

The sun had reached its zenith and was winking through the tops of the trees, when they came to a dead end.  They stood on the outcropping of a cliff and their eyes followed its descent to a rushing river far below.  To the right, was a rickety bridge and on the bridge, as big as a boulder, stood a pot-bellied troll.

“If only the old witch had turned me into a billy goat,” the raven muttered.

“And now you’re going to regale me with tales of great swordsmanship against mighty beasts?”

“Just a tale I heard ok? Use the axe.”

The scarecrow approached the troll wearily, with the raven shivering on his shoulder.  The troll looked at them with muddy eyes.  He stood solid, immovable and silent, save for a low grumbling coming from his stomach.

“I gather you are hungry?” the scarecrow asked the troll.

“Hungry,” the troll nodded.  “If you give me food, I will let you pass.”

 “Unfortunately, I left my pumpkins in their pumpkin patch at home.  I have no food.”

The troll looked in desperation at the scarecrow.  “What are you made of?”

“Only straw, I will give you a stomachache.  However, my friend over there, the raven…”

The raven looked pointedly at the axe hanging casually in the scarecrow’s hand.

“Yes, the raven?” the troll inquired, his stomach rumbling even more.

“He is plump from lots of pumpkins.  Why don’t you eat him?”

The troll nodded eagerly.  “He will do.”

“What?!” squawked the raven.  The scarecrow tilted his head towards a crumbling outcropping not far away.  “Fly there,” he mouthed.

The troll lumbered towards the raven who flew in a panic towards the crumbling outcropping where he hovered frantically.  A meaty hand reached out to grab him, and he flew further out of reach.  The troll leaped and the outcropping crumbled away.  The troll lost his footing and toppled into the chasm and its river, his stomach still grumbling.

“Why didn’t you use the axe?!” screeched the raven.  “You could have gotten me killed!”

“Well, I didn’t.  I would have been no match for the troll.  You did well, your highness.”

“Hmmph,” the raven sniffed still shaken.  “And by the way, I’m not fat.”