The castle sleeps. Magic settles in every corner, weaving itself into cobwebs and thickly layered dust. It seeps into the stones, into the mortar, into the beams of the vaulted ceilings, until the structure itself sings of rest. Leaving nothing of her revenge to chance, the sorceress folds her spell around every living thing within the walls of the keep. The horses in the stables stand with their eyes shut and heads hanging, unbothered by the slumbering flies which have long since fallen from the air. A cocker spaniel lies in front of the kitchen fire, eyes tight shut and paws twitching as he chases illusory rabbits. Enchanted roses climb the gates from the outside, but the trees in the courtyard have been dormant for years, sending slow dreams out through their network of mycelium. In the barren crook of one such tree, a blue jay sits, feathers fluffed, atop a pile of leaves and thorny twigs. She was not here when the curse was cast, but fled to the keep later, seeking shelter from a storm. Once inside, she settled quickly, and built her nest from the detritus of the roses on the outer walls. However, she could not escape the spell forever. Shortly after she laid her egg, sleep sank into her bones, as it did the rest of the castle. Now, the magic seeps into her egg.
The castle has slept for over a century, the bird for seventy years. It is time for them to wake. A young woman strides up the path to the gates, her armor shining silver in the sun. Her sword is sharp, and she will not fail. A whispered apology, a kiss delivered to a sleeping mouth, and the spell breaks. The castle’s occupants open their eyes. Nutrients start to course upward from the roots of the trees. A dog stretches, then sneezes at the cloud of dust disturbed by his movement. The blue jay ruffles her feathers, and settles back down. Quietly, the magic withdraws from the castle, leaving only a whisper of power curled inside the speckled shell of an egg.
Leaves and buds begin to emerge, the castle’s human residents begin to adjust to the new century, and, in the late spring, the egg hatches. The last of the shell falls away, and the membrane dries, revealing something with downy blue-gray feathers. It chirps. It is not a blue jay. Its mother does not care. She flies off, and returns with insects for her child. It grows large on beetles and grasshoppers, still sluggish and easy to catch after their long sleep. It continues to grow. Scales glint around its eyes as it learns to catch spiders for itself.
When it is time to leave the nest, it hops out willingly, gliding to the ground with ease, balancing with a tail too jagged and prehensile to be birdlike. It cries its triumph, high and keening, revealing the sharp teeth that line the inside of its beak. It begins going farther afield, growing larger still on mice and squirrels. Sometimes, it returns to the nest with a gift of acorns for its mother. When the wind begins to carry winter frost, it flies south. It continues long past the normal migration route, toward the land where the mountains spit fire at the sky. It will not return for a long time.
As it flies, its shadow spooks the horses and cattle it passes over. Eventually, it reaches a craggy peak, so tall that the top leaves jagged wounds in the clouds. On the side of the mountain face, an opening reveals a dark, wide cavern filled with stalactites. This is where it will finish growing, and where it will build its own nest, much larger and shinier than that of its childhood.
Years later, the queens of the castle receive news of a dragon on the move. Shouts of alarm ring out as it appears over the horizon, wings beating like thunder and a cry like torn steel carrying over the wind. In the clamor of evacuation, no one hears the joyful trill of the solitary blue jay nesting in the courtyard. Her child is home.
The castle has slept for over a century, the bird for seventy years. It is time for them to wake. A young woman strides up the path to the gates, her armor shining silver in the sun. Her sword is sharp, and she will not fail. A whispered apology, a kiss delivered to a sleeping mouth, and the spell breaks. The castle’s occupants open their eyes. Nutrients start to course upward from the roots of the trees. A dog stretches, then sneezes at the cloud of dust disturbed by his movement. The blue jay ruffles her feathers, and settles back down. Quietly, the magic withdraws from the castle, leaving only a whisper of power curled inside the speckled shell of an egg.
Leaves and buds begin to emerge, the castle’s human residents begin to adjust to the new century, and, in the late spring, the egg hatches. The last of the shell falls away, and the membrane dries, revealing something with downy blue-gray feathers. It chirps. It is not a blue jay. Its mother does not care. She flies off, and returns with insects for her child. It grows large on beetles and grasshoppers, still sluggish and easy to catch after their long sleep. It continues to grow. Scales glint around its eyes as it learns to catch spiders for itself.
When it is time to leave the nest, it hops out willingly, gliding to the ground with ease, balancing with a tail too jagged and prehensile to be birdlike. It cries its triumph, high and keening, revealing the sharp teeth that line the inside of its beak. It begins going farther afield, growing larger still on mice and squirrels. Sometimes, it returns to the nest with a gift of acorns for its mother. When the wind begins to carry winter frost, it flies south. It continues long past the normal migration route, toward the land where the mountains spit fire at the sky. It will not return for a long time.
As it flies, its shadow spooks the horses and cattle it passes over. Eventually, it reaches a craggy peak, so tall that the top leaves jagged wounds in the clouds. On the side of the mountain face, an opening reveals a dark, wide cavern filled with stalactites. This is where it will finish growing, and where it will build its own nest, much larger and shinier than that of its childhood.
Years later, the queens of the castle receive news of a dragon on the move. Shouts of alarm ring out as it appears over the horizon, wings beating like thunder and a cry like torn steel carrying over the wind. In the clamor of evacuation, no one hears the joyful trill of the solitary blue jay nesting in the courtyard. Her child is home.