"Lottie´s Rose" by Emma-Jane C. Smith

“I love you Lottie,” Gregory told the girl who lay asleep in her bed. Her face was so pale and her skin so cold, despite the blankets and warmth from the hearth. He could have mistaken her for dead.

Gregory’s tiny hand crept into Lottie’s equally small hand. He had kept watch over her ever since the illness had first befallen her. The doctors were unable to cure her, not understanding the disease that was ravaging her diminutive body.

His younger sister had been sick for a long time, almost two years now, which had been a long time for Gregory. The waiting, the sadness. Two of Lottie’s birthdays had been celebrated quietly in her room, everyone trying to smile but no one quite managing it.

Gregory missed seeing Lottie’s smiling face, and her merry eyes. She used to play with him down in the garden near the bubbling stream. They loved making toy boats to sail down the brook and play games of pretend. Lottie used to fancy she saw faeries in amongst the garden flowers but Gregory didn’t believe her, for they would disappear a moment before he looked.

Suddenly the door creaked open slightly and Gregory turned to see his father’s sad face.

“The doctor’s here, Son. Why don’t you go play while he takes a look at your sister.”

Mutely Gregory nodded, gently sliding his hand out from Lottie’s. Before he left the room he bent down and placed a kiss on his sleeping sister’s cheek. Then, with his head bowed, he left her to the care of the adults.

Gregory made his way to the stream at the bottom of the garden. He liked to go there to get away for the sombre mood of the house. But no matter how hard he tried to be rid of it, somehow it always followed him. It was carved within him just as strongly as the memories of the day she had fallen ill.

It had been a day much like this, the birds chirping, the flowers all blooming in the warm spring weather. Daffodils and bluebells carpeted the ground with their vibrant colours, and gave way gently to the garden’s other multitude of plants. The grass was long and lush, gay breezes making it move like the sea. It was a day of idle play and wonder.

Lottie had been sitting in the middle of a circle of toadstools, claiming to want to visit her faery friends in their own world. Gregory had laughed at her and teased her, thinking they were another plaything she had created in her mind.

It was then that she had picked a strange flower from the rich soil, its dark colours contrasting with those around it.

“Look at this!” she had said, holding the flower close to him.

It was blue, its colour darkening into black the closer the petals were to the stem. It was a beautifully sculpted rose.

“What a funny colour it is!” Gregory had exclaimed, “I’ve never seen a blue rose before.”

“It must be a gift from the faeries!” she had exclaimed, her eyes widening with excitement.

Gregory had scoffed at the idea but Lottie would not be swayed. It had been then that she had pricked her finger on a thorn, hidden beneath the dark green leaves on its stem.

“Ow!” she had said loudly, and sucked her injured finger.

“Throw it away, Lottie, then you won’t hurt yourself again.”

“No!” she had insisted. “This is a gift, I shan’t throw a present away!”

“If that’s what you want,” Gregory had said, his mind then drifting distractedly back to the stick boat he had been making.

That night Lottie had fallen ill. The doctor had been called and had declared it nothing but a tummy upset and told her parents to give her lots of water to flush it out.

The family waited a few anxious days, seeing that she was not getting better. Frantically, they had called other doctors, each one more highly regarded in medical circles. It had been the last of these that had made a diagnosis of poisoning.

Frantically the house was searched but no trace of poison was to be found, nor anything to suggest Lottie had eaten anything tainted. Being cautious, their parents had decided to let the cook go, believing she had held a grudge against the family. But for all her parent’s care Lottie had only became more violently ill.

Now she was only a pale wraith of a girl, bedridden and conscious for only a few hours a day. Her light brown curls had tarnished to almost a black, her eyes had turned from their merry blue to grey.

Their mother had taken the shock of the illness badly, and had sought to immerse herself in work. She held a vain hope of nursing her daughter into recovery. But not even a mother’s love could cure the ailing child. And so their mother had thrown herself into work and prayer, praying for a miracle.

Their father had withdrawn, sombrely haunting the corridors of the house like a ghost waiting for redemption. His hair had turned slightly grey despite him not at the age it would normally strike. Lines of worry creased his forehead. It was as if he were almost broken, his once perfect life of happiness shattered, its remains strewn far by the winds of misfortune.

Gregory sighed as he sat in the long grass. He felt he was to blame, he knew that something he had done was the cause of his beloved sister’s state. If only he had warned her, told her that the rose was unnatural. Not safe.

Suddenly, the twinkling sound of bells broke Gregory’s reverie. He looked about, searching for its source. Nothing but the wilderness of the garden met his eyes.

It was not until he hung his head once more that he spotted something quite peculiar. A small person with delicate clear wings like a dragonfly stood on the ground before him. It was a male creature, who wore a costume made from leaves and a hat with a tiny grey feather.

“Who are you?” Gregory asked, amazed that his sister’s stories were true.

He stared wide eyed. Before him stood a creature that could not be anything except a faery.

“Ashton. But that is not important,” the faery told him, taking flight. “You must come with me to meet the king and queen. There is not much time to lose.”

Ashton’s voice was melodious, it was as if he were not speaking at all but was singing. It reminded him of the fresh sound of laughter on a breeze.

“Do they know my sister? Do they know how to make her well again?” Gregory asked, anxiously excited.

“There is hardly time to talk! Come. Step within the toadstool circle,” he instructed with the same musical voice. Gregory did as he was told.

The faery took something from a small pouch at his waist and threw gold dust up into the air. Immediately Gregory’s world began to change.

There was a brilliant white light all around him that turned into a shower of golden sparkles. He felt as if he were floating on uncharted skies, falling gently to a new world below.

When the landscape came back into focus, Gregory found himself in a jungle. It was just as tangled and mysterious as in the storybooks he had read. Then Gregory began to realise the landscape about him was the same… except it was larger. The huge trees about him were small shrubs, flowers and blades of grass. He felt like Gulliver in his travels to the land of giants.

Ashton came to land in front of Gregory. He was as tall as a human adult now, almost the same height as Gregory’s father.

With the thought of his father, memories of Lottie’s condition came flooding back. His mind trembled under the renew weight upon his mind. Suddenly it began to rain, the once lush and vibrant surroundings turned to grey. The colour of ash and misery.

Gregory looked up into the faery’s grey eyes.

“Can you help me?” Gregory asked, “My sister is ill.”

“That is why you have been brought here,” he answered, “Come, the king and queen are waiting.”

Gregory was led along a dirt road which was quickly becoming mud. The faery walked despite the fact that he could fly. Finally they arrived, before him stood a rose made of crystal. As the rain fell upon it he could hear the musical pings, each one a different angelic and magical note.

“This is where the king and queen live. It is the royal palace.” Ashton explained.

“It is beautiful.” Gregory replied, awed by such a creation.

However the majesty of his surroundings were not enough to shake the silent longing his heart felt, to find a cure. Within the crystal rose, Gregory could not see out into the world beyond. This made him curious. Was the palace really made of crystal or magicked into taking on its appearance?

Finally the finery of the palace gave way to large oaken doors, one engraved into the likeness of a female faery, the other a male. Above their heads their names were inscribed- Oberon and Titania.

The doors opened with no hint of a whisper or quiet groan. It opened to reveal the throne room decked in golden, silver and autumn coloured threads.

Gregory bowed, knowing in his heart that such powerful beings should be shown respect.

“Ahh!” the queen exclaimed, her dress spun from the silken web of spiders, and bejewelled with captured dewdrops. “You have arrived at last, human child, named Gregory.”

“I thank you for your summons, your majesties.” Gregory replied. “Do you know that my sister is dying? I seek a means to save her.”

“That is why we have called you here,” the king responded, his robes woven from fine threads made from autumn leaves, a wreath of green resting upon his brow. “We have finally found the cure for the poison given to your sister.”

“Poison? Who would do such a thing?” Gregory asked, frightened at the prospect of someone so truly evil that they poisoned innocent Lottie.

“Your sister is beautiful and young. Varen seeks a way to own her, to change her and bring her to his own world. He rules the Betweenworld, a world where ghosts live, and those who are dead but unable to move on. He was the one who grew the blue rose for your sister. It is he who wants her to die.”

“Then how can I save her? What is the cure?”

“You must find a blue rose. Eating the petals can cure the poison from the thorns. But be warned, she must eat all the flower’s petals, if she does not then nothing will save her.”

“Where can I find one?”

“It will be difficult. They only grow in the Betweenworld, Varen’s world. It is not a safe place to roam.”

“Can I have help?” he asked, his mind tumbling over itself to digest the news.

“None of the faery folk may go. We would be stripped of our powers and last no more than a few brief moments. We can, however, watch your passage and communicate with you in times of need. Are you willing to go?”

“I must save Lottie, that is all I care about.”

“Then prepare yourself Gregory, follow the path to the top of the plateau, there you will find the blue roses.”

“Here, take this.” Ashton told him. He passed a pouch of gold dust to him.

As soon as he took the gift, Gregory was transported to another world.

Gregory was surrounded by shades of grey; shadows flitted about, in and out of existence. It seemed that nothing but himself was solid. Suddenly, a sedate wind picked up ever so slightly, blowing at a languid pace. There was a sigh on the breeze, like an echoing sadness.

“What shallow world must this be?” Gregory asked the air, suddenly overcome by a strange feeling. It was like a yawning of his mind.

There was a shower of rain from the heavens which broke Gregory’s contemplations. It was rain but felt completely different, he could feel the individual droplets of water upon his clothes and skin but they left no dew or wetness. It was like they too were ghosts, too insubstantial to affect him. With a growing determination he walked forward.

Soon Gregory could see hard, grey rock below his feet, it crunched loudly beneath them. Suddenly the landscape opened up. He walked on a road that lead up to a high plateau. Gregory could see high mountains in the distance, all made of the same grey rock. What surprised him though, was that none of them were snow capped.

Gregory continued on his trek. On either side of the makeshift road, the rocks became jagged like teeth that pointed hungrily at the sky. Gregory went to touch one and as his hand connected he jerked it back. It felt like lightening had leaped through his hand and up his arm. He rubbed it, wary now that this was a world of unseen dangers.

Gregory hurried on, his mind becoming more frantic to pick a blue rose and leave. The rain had long since stopped, leaving a breeze in its place.

Suddenly, Gregory tripped. He saw that his foot had been sucked into the once hard grey rock. His pulse began to quicken as he stood and began to walk at a faster pace. But unfortunately, Gregory’s feet began to sink lower into the stone; it sucked at his legs, dragging him down.

“Oh what am I to do now?” Gregory whispered to himself, vainly trying to pull himself out of the quicksand type substance.

Suddenly, a melodious voice sounded from nowhere.

“Use the gold dust, Gregory, dust the ground with it and it will return to its original state.”

There was a sound of tiny bells and the voice was gone.

Hurriedly, Gregory took out the pouch. Gingerly he dipped his hand in. It felt like air and yet was solid enough for him to lift. Gently he sprinkled the dust on the ground before him. There was a grating noise and then nothing.

Gregory stepped forward. It was solid. He stepped forward again, still it did not let his feet sink. Confident it was safe, Gregory began to run. He didn’t have much time.

When finally Gregory had almost reached the plateau he hungered for, the air shifted. Curiously, Gregory walked forward a few steps. Then he stopped.

Ten thousand ghosts or more now stood between Gregory and the blue roses growing on the plateau. The sky was grey clouds, thunder and blinding white lightening.

His mind searched frantically for a way to make them all vanish. Only one plan came to mind, one that required a great amount of courage.

“Varen!” Gregory called out, “Fight me yourself and take your minions away from here.”

He swallowed after his frightened words echoed through the landscape of the bizarre world. There was a deep rumbling sound, too deep to be thunder. The ground beneath Gregory’s feet began to shake, quiver with either anticipation or terror.

“WHO DARES CHALLENGE ME!” came a roaring voice.

Gregory yelped, but gathered his courage to speak.

“I am Gregory, brother to Lottie. It is I who challenge you!”

“HA! OH SMALL HUMAN CREATURE, YOU WILL SEE MY WRATH FALL UPON YOU!” Varen replied.

Suddenly, before Gregory, the earth began to split. It was a wound that stretched long and deeply into the dull grey rock of the plateau. Out of it came a rushing wind, howling, it tore fiercely at his clothes. Gregory stumbled back, his hand protecting his face from the shards of flying rock.

When the wind ceased Gregory took down his hand. In front of him stood a giant. Varen was as pale and insubstantial as a ghost but Gregory knew he was solid and very real.

Varen stood taller than a house, his long arms and strong torso bare. His face was human but looked as if it were chiselled from stone. His eyes were pools of black tar, demonic and evil. Varen roared, the earth shaking under its power.

Suddenly the fey voice returned.

“Sprinkle the dust of the faeries on yourself, then you will see but they will not.”

Under the cryptic guidance of the voice, he did as he was told.

The landscape deepened around Gregory, it took on a different dimensional personality. He looked down at himself. He wasn’t there! The gold dust had rendered him invisible. Gregory clenched his fist. He would get past Varen and find a blue rose to save Lottie.

Gregory ran. He ran fast and hard while Varen searched their surroundings with evil black eyes. With a leaping jump Gregory had made it to the other side of the chasm, the blue flowers were closer now than they had ever been. His eyes locked onto the one nearest.

Suddenly Gregory was thrown to the ground; he skidded across the sharp rocks, cutting himself in many places. He got to his feet and turned, Varen was facing him.

“YOUR FEY MAGIC WILL NO LONGER WORK FOR YOU, CHILD, MY POWER IS THE GREATEST HERE FOR WE ARE WITHIN MY DOMAIN!”

Varen reached down and picked Gregory up by the leg. He screamed in pain, his ankle was twisted sorely, the tender muscles damaged. Varen laughed, gloating over his victory. He tossed Gregory towards the plateau’s cliff edge.
<br>Gregory grasped at the ground, hoping to grab something to stop his fall. As he frantically scrabbled at the rocky terrain, Gregory’s eyes found a blue rose, just out of arm's reach. <br><p> <br>As Gregory clutched the edge of the cliff, he inched a hand towards a straggled blue rose. Then the rocks on the cliff edge gave way under his hand. With a scream of terror he fell. <br><p> <br><center> <br>*        *        *        *        * <br></center> <br><p> <br>John turned away from the window and felt his heart lurch. Tears threatened to trickle down his cheeks but he held them back. <br><p> <br>Gregory was missing. He had sent his servants out all afternoon to look for him. It would be dark soon, the sun more than halfway under the horizon. It was sinking to its unglorified death. <br><p> <br>His daughter was dying, his son missing and his wife was barely hanging on. He had instructed one of the maids to put her to bed; her continual crying wasn’t going to be much use in the situation they faced. <br><p> <br>He looked down at his baby girl. She was so young, so fragile, so precious. He ran his hand through his hair and sat down on the chair beside his daughter’s bed. He took her favourite toy, a teddy bear, from the bedside table and placed it snugly under her arm. <br><p> <br>She had been asleep now for nearly two days, the doctor telling him what he already knew… <i>not long now</i>. John wiped a tear from his eye before it could travel its way down his cheek. Life was not fair. <br><p> <br>He imagined his daughter as she had been two years ago, laughing, playful and full of boundless energy. Now she lay there, pale, gaunt and in a sleep from which she would never wake. <br><p> <br>John was so tired, tired of his heavy heart, the burden of sadness, and his inability to help his children. He sighed, feeling the coldness of depression seep deeper into his skin. <br><p> <br>He would wait. He would wait at her bedside until God took his child from him. He closed his eyes to pray; pray for a miracle he knew would not come. <br><p> <br>Slowly as his silent words to God flowed from him, his mind sank into sleep. Sleep was now his only escape, a time to dream of a world outside his reality. <br><p> <br><center> <br>*        *        *        *        * <br></center> <br><p> <br>Henrietta made her way through the large trees, holding her lantern aloof. It did not light her path as much as she had hoped but it was better than nothing. Suddenly, the lamplight flickered in the breeze. Frightened that it may be extinguished she placed a protective hand in front of it. <br><p> <br>She would not have gone out on her own on such a night if her master had not been so struck with despair. Not only that but the dear boy, Gregory, who had disappeared was such a sweet thing. The poor boy was probably crying somewhere, wanting to be alone, or else lost in the large tangle flora of the garden. All of a sudden she remembered the small stream and a cold feeling swept over her. <br><p> <br><i>No. Surely not.</i> She thought to herself. <i>He could not have drowned himself.</i> But Henrietta wasn’t so sure. She had heard stories about people overcome by sorrow and she knew the Jameson family had the worst kind of sorrow there was. She had never worked for any people before that were so afflicted by sadness. And now they faced losing both, if Gregory was not found. <br><p> <br>Henrietta quickened her pace, her mind screaming at her to hurry. <i>Oh God, I’ll never forgive myself if he is drowned!</i> She whispered in her mind. <br><p> <br>At last she neared the stream but alas there was no sign of the Jameson boy. She walked on, following the trickle of the stream. It gurgled happily beside her, unaware of the mournful state of affairs. <br><p> <br>Suddenly, Henrietta heard the snap of a twig. She looked out cautiously, holding the lamp out further. With a shiver she wondered if there were any dangerous animals living in the wild garden. <br><p> <br>She took a step forward, straining her ears to hear any other sounds. None came. Then she spotted something on the ground not far away. It was the boy! <br><p> <br>A wave of gladness swept over her as she approached. The poor little dear had fallen asleep under a large elm tree. Then with a start she realised he lay in a circle of toadstools. She had previously never put much store into old stories, especially ones involving fairies but the night was strange enough to make her cautious. <br><p> <br>“Gregory!” she whispered, hoping to rouse him. <br><p> <br>He did not stir and so Henrietta put her superstitious fears aside and walked inside the circle. As she did she noticed that he had a few cuts and bruises, and his ankle looked slightly swollen. Henrietta knelt down beside him and rested a hand on his cheek. It was as cold as the night air. <br><p> <br>Carefully she put down her lantern and picked the boy up. He was heavy but she was used to carrying such weighty loads. She then made her way back to the house, the boy on her hip and the lantern in her hand. <br><p> <br><center> <br>*        *        *        *        * <br></center> <br><p> <br>“I’ve found him, Mr. Jameson.” Henrietta announced as she walked into Lottie’s room. <br><p> <br>John woke with a start and then allowed himself a small smile at seeing his son safe. John took Gregory in his arms, and then laid him down next to his sister. They both looked cold and pale. <br><p> <br>“I fear he’s a little worse for wear, and he’s caught a death of cold.” Henrietta told him. <br><p> <br>Then, realising her choice of words, her face turned ashen. Mr. Jameson didn’t seem to have heard and so Henrietta quickly busied herself by stoking the fire in the hearth. She then left quietly, closing the door with a click behind her. <br><p> <br>John sat back down on the cushioned chair, he was still tired but his nap had given him some small store of energy. He watched his children as they slept, their breathing light and rhythmic. <br><p> <br>Then, John noticed his son’s hand clenched tightly into a fist. He prised his fingers open. There, in his hand, were blue petals. Its deep blue colour intrigued him and he wondered what value his son held for the strange flower. He closed his son’s fist. <br><p> <br>Leaning forward he kissed both his children on the cheek and left the room. He would tell his wife that their son had been found, and he would comfort her about their daughter’s coming death. <br><p> <br><center> <br>*        *        *        *        * <br></center> <br><p> <br>Gregory woke and savoured the perfect picture of his sister’s face. Her eyes were open. <br><p> <br>“Hello Gregory,” she said. <br><p> <br>“Hello Lottie,” he replied smiling. <br><p> <br>He held his hand out to her, showing her the petals of the blue rose. <br><p> <br>“Oberon and Titania said this will cure you. You must eat the petals.” <br><p> <br>“Thank you,” she whispered and took the treasured medicine. <br><p> <br>Gregory watched her eagerly eat one petal at a time. The more Lottie ate, the more she seemed to regain her colour and strength. When at last she had swallowed the final one, Lottie sat up and gave her brother a warm hug. <br><p> <br>“I knew you would save me!” she whispered fiercely. <br><p> <br>Suddenly lights filling the room interrupted their embrace. Gregory looked closely at one and found that it was Queen Titania. It looked as if the whole kingdom of faeries had come to see Lottie. <br><p> <br>“You did well Gregory,” a small musical voice said in his ear. He turned to see King Oberon, who flew down to Gregory’s shirt to pin upon it a golden badge. It was in the shape of a rose. <br><p> <br>“Thank you.” Gregory told them, not able to keep the joy from his face. <br><p> <br>“You will always be welcome in our kingdom,” Titania told him, smiling. <br><p> <br>Then with the sound of steps coming from the hallway, the faeries alighted from the room, waving goodbye as they flew out the open window. <br><p> <br>The door creaked open quietly. The children turned to see their parents standing in the doorway. Both of them wore a look of surprise and stood frozen as if under a spell. <br><p> <br>“Mother! Father!” Lottie cried out. <br><p> <br>At that moment they seemed to regain themselves. John and Margaret Jameson ran over to the bed and engulfed their children in a hug. Both Gregory’s mother and father started to cry for joy. For on this solemn day they had seen a miracle. <br><p> <br>“How-?” Gregory’s father asked, momentarily at a loss for words. <br><p> <br>Gregory and his sister looked at eachother, they both didn’t know how to explain what had happened. Their father didn’t press the question. <br><p> <br>“I declare! We shall all go on a long trip tomorrow, I am eager to go up north.” <br><p> <br>“Oh John!” their mother, Margaret, exclaimed through tears of joy, “That sounds like a wonderful idea! I shall have to write to my brother Eugene, he would take us in for a while.” <br><p> <br>After many kisses and loving embraces, their parents finally left them to sleep. It was then that Lottie turned to her brother. <br><p> <br>“They think my recovery is a miracle but you know what? You are the real miracle! And I’m glad you are my brother.” <br><p> <br>She smiled so brightly that even her eyes twinkled. Gregory gave his sister a final hug before they crept down into the bed sheets and slept, their dreams filled with happy thoughts, their hearts filled with joy. <br><p> <br>It was not until the next day that Gregory’s parents noticed the badge he wore. Smiling mysteriously, Gregory told them he had found it down at the bottom of the garden – inside a circle of toadstools. <br><p> <br>