The Real Mother Goose

CHAPTER EIGHT

It wasn’t the cats in the cage this time, it was Jack—wild, insane, thrashing, howling, pounding, wailing. Mother could barely stand it, and she paced the floor, her boots clicking hollowly, back and forth. He was two rooms away, and she could still hear him. Willie brought tea and left it quietly on the table, but Mother ignored it. She patted Molly on the head absently when the cat girl came to thread her way around Mother’s legs, but she sidestepped her, continuing to pace.

“You said she was coming hooooooooooooome!” She heard Jack’s plaintive cry clearly and winced, her peignoir whirling as she turned, pacing back toward the door.

She hesitated, her hand on the knob, listening to the youth sob, crying, “Jill! Jill!” over and over. Mother took a deep, steadying breath, turning away from the door, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t breaking for him.

“Maybe we can distract him?” Mother queried, as Molly tried again, rubbing her soft ears against Mother’s thighs. The cat woman looked up at her mistress, her slitted eyes narrowing, the gold flecks bright.

“Could you be distracted from your love for Father?” Mother sighed, wincing, and gave up her pacing, collapsing into a chair. “Oh Molly, what am I going to do? I’ve made a mess of everything.” The feline just rested her soft head in her mistress’ lap, letting herself be stroked as a comfort, more to Mother than to Molly. Mother considered calling in Blue, asking him what to do. He was the one she turned to now, with Father gone, relied on, leaned on. He’d been such a strength and help, and might have a solution now. But her pride stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t seem to form the words. She knew both the King and Queen had looked askance at her ability to train and discipline her young charges, worried enough they had actually considered declaring Father Goose defunct and giving her to another man.

Mother shuddered, closing her eyes against the thought, not wanting to remember George’s hungry, narrow glance, his groping hands. Instead, she held out hope that the search party the King had sent out would find Artan and bring him home, where he belonged. Maybe he could clean up the mess she’d made, she thought with a bright flash of hope. She’d take whatever punishment was coming to her, if only he could be here, beside her, again.

Her daydream drifted toward the days-and nights-they’d spent together in this room, in the big four poster bed, Mother in various states of undress and restraint. She didn’t know how long it had been before she opened her eyes again, startled this time not by the noise, but the lack of it. Molly’s breathing was deep and even-she slept, too.

Cocking her head, Mother frowned, opening her mouth to call Willie, when the little man appeared, his brow knitted, his eyes panicked. “Mother! He’s gone!” She’d known. Even before he spoke the words, she knew.

“Jack’s escaped! I swear it was one of the cats who let him out, that female one, she’s so sly. Mother, he’s gone! Gone!”

“Call Blue,” she said, her voice as unsteady as she was as she stood. “Get the carriage. Maybe we can catch him.”

The King and Queen were the last people Mother wanted to visit, and after they’d scoured the countryside for hours, she decided not to turn that direction after all. If Jack had gone after Jill and managed to get past the gates, his fate was sealed. There was no stopping what was going to happen, even if Mother showed up in the great hall asking if they’d found her charge. In fact, things would only be worse for her, she reasoned, for all of them. Better let things take their course, she decided, letting Blue help her down from the carriage, barely noticing him as she went into the house.

The house was quiet that night, and Mother insisted, in spite of Willie’s objections, that the cats sleep in her room. Molly curled against her mistress, licking away her tears, while Mother pretended she wasn’t crying at all. Things were fine. They were going to be fine. One way or another, she was going to get them all out of the mess she’d somehow made, although she wasn’t quite sure how, on either front. How had this happened? And how in the world was she going to fix things?

That night, she dreamed of Artan, of flying, white wings spread wide, soaring above it all. The reality of morning dawned far too soon, and Mother found herself dressed and ready, standing at the window of the drawing room-the curtains had been replaced, the remains of the grandfather clock cleaned-waiting for something, although she wasn’t sure what.

She wasn’t sure, until Jack burst into the drawing room, dragging a sobbing Jill behind him. Both Blue and Willie followed quickly as the youth stood defiantly in front of Mother, his blue eyes dark with fear and determination.

“Help us.” Jack swallowed, pushing a red curl out of his eyes-he desperately needed a haircut, Mother thought, apropos of nothing. “Please. They’re coming for us, and we’ve nowhere else to go.”

Jill, wearing only Jack’s shirt—he stood bare-chested and barefooted, his face cut, bruised and dirty—collapsed at Mother’s feet, still crying.

“I don’t want to go back there. Please help us,” she begged, wrapping her arms around the older woman’s boots. “I just want to be with Jack. That’s all I want. It’s all I ever wanted.”

Mother swallowed, blinking fast, thinking faster. She squatted down, cupping Jill’s tear-streaked face in her palms, and kissed the girl’s forehead.

“Mother will make it all better,” she promised. “Come with me.” They did. They all did—following her down to her bedchamber. Mother packed three bags, one for Jill, one for Jack, and another, larger one, for herself.

“Mother, can I ask—?” Blue frowned as the woman began to change out of her usual attire, donning man’s breeches, cinching the waist tightly, a man’s white shirt, certainly Artan’s and entirely too large. She tucked in into the breeches, pulling her hair back tightly before turning to Blue.

“I think you know,” was all Mother said, tossing the two smaller bags at Jack’s feet, along with a clean, warm change of clothes for each of her charges, who immediately scrambled to dress themselves. “Blue, three horses, please. The fastest we own.”

“Not the carriage?” Willie’s voice was high and panicked, and Mother patted him absently on the head as she passed.

“Not this time,” she murmured, plucking a dark wool cape from a hook. “Not this last time.”

“Mother-” Blue sounded almost as distressed as Willie, but she gave him a sharp look, her eyes flashing.

“Horses, Blue,” she instructed, waving him toward the door. “Now.” He gave a brief nod, turning on his heel and heading toward the door. A short time later, they were all mounted and riding toward the borderlands. Mother knew the way well enough, and her charges were both good riders, swift and skilled, keeping up with her frenzied pace without too much trouble. She only wished they’d been under cover of darkness, but there was no time to lose. Cutting across fields, driving the horses over streams and fences, she avoided the main road, too afraid they would cross paths with the King’s men, come to claim his property.

They were over halfway there when she realized they were being pursued. At first, she had hope that it was Blue, mounted and riding to keep an eye on them, but when the riders came into view behind them over the crest of a hill, she saw the King’s banner flying, and knew they had to hurry. Digging her heels into the horse’s side, she spurred him on, and both Jack and Jill did the same, glancing behind at what Mother’s wide eyes had found.

If Mother could get them through to the borderlands, she decided, just on the other side of the portal, they could disappear, blend into the strange, overly populated land beyond, and escape their fate here in her world. And me, too, she thought, leaning into the horse’s mane, trying to make herself as streamlined as possible. I can disappear forever, become someone else, live my life out over there until I’m an old woman, bouncing Jill’s babies on my knee and pretending they’re my own grandchildren.

The thought pained her, but it was also freeing, and she took only a moment’s glance to gauge the distance between she and the riders. They were closing in fast. Too fast. She didn’t know if they were going to make it.

Yanking a sharp left on the horse’s reins forced him in that direction. She heard him panting, knew he was foaming at the mouth from the run, and wished she didn’t have to drive him so hard, but she dug her heels in, cutting through a swath of trees, hearing Jack behind her and Jill behind him, following at a breakneck pace. They all knew the stakes, it seemed.

The horse’s hooves had a hard time with the soft soil beyond the trees on the way up the hill, but she pushed onward, hoping it would give the riders behind them even more pause. Over the crest of the hill was a wide swath of field, bordered by a old wooden fence. The horse cleared it easily, directly over the faded “No Trespassing” sign, and Mother steered the steed right, forcing it onto a well-worn path that twisted and turned in the midst of the grass and flowers.

When Mother quickly dismounted in front of an enormous rock, as tall at her horse’s back, Jack pulled up short, the horse rearing, turning to avoid Mother’s steed.

He helped Jill down and unhooked their bags from the pommel.

“Hurry!” Mother urged, unhooking her own bag and swinging it over her shoulder.

Jill stared, open-mouthed, as Mother began to step through the rock. Not onto or around, but through it. Her hand appeared to be gone at the wrist as she turned to

them, her eyes wide, the sound of the riders arriving behind them coming in a deafening thunder.

“I can’t go in there,” Jill whispered, shaking her head and pressing herself to Jack’s side.

“Yes you can.” Jack grabbed her arm, pulling her along, glancing behind him as the King’s men arrived behind them, beginning to dismount. Their shouts—Halt! In the name of the King! Stop! You’re under arrest!—filled their ears, but Mother grabbed Jack’s hand, pulling hard. She saw the King himself, riding behind the forward riders, his face red with rage. She saw George, as well, pointing at her, yelling something, and she hoped it would be the last time she ever saw his round, pasty face.

Mother thought they were home free. Her stomach lurched as it always did when she stepped through the portal, her body immediately cold, but Jack’s hand was warm in hers, and the sounds of the King’s men were fading. Then she hit a wall, and the wind was immediately knocked out of her. Mother went flying backward, knocking Jack and Jill back with her. The three of them sat, dazed, in a collapsed heap, caught between the King’s men on one side and-Mother shaded her eyes, and saw the King’s crest on the chest of the man who had stepped through the portal—more of the King’s men on the other.

The search party, she realized almost immediately, before the man even spoke.

“No sign of Father Goose, your majesty,” the knight called in direction of the King. The rock revealed more of his men, half a dozen in all, coming through the portal. “We have reliable reports he’s deceased.”

Mother rolled her eyes and scoffed, picking herself up and dusting herself off.

“Reliable reports? Please!”

“You overstep your bounds, Mother.” The King moved his horse toward them, towering in the saddle in spite of his short stature.

“She needs a firm hand.” The voice made Mother shudder and she glared at George, who moved his own horse up beside the King.

King Cole’s lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the scene, the two redheaded youths huddled together on the ground, Mother standing defiant, her packed back still slung over her shoulder.

“Your husband is dead,” the King said low enough just for hear ears, his eyes soft for a moment. ”Accept it.”

“Never.”

Mother’s jaw tightened in defiance.

“I am making an official decree!” The King’s voice boomed over the field. “Father Goose is dead!”

Mother’s heart leapt to her throat, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak, refusing to look at George in the eye, although he tried to catch it, his fat, rosy lips stretched into a wide smile.

“Men, take these slaves back for punishment,” the King ordered, and the knight closest to them lifted Jack under the arm, shoving him toward another. Another threw Jill over his shoulder. She squealed and protested, but there was no resisting all of them. “Mother, you will be punished as well.”

She had known, of course. She waited.

“The King’s property is not your own to do with as you wish,” George reminded her, trying to catch her attention again, but she refused to face him.

“You will be given to George,” the King said with a sharp nod. His face twisted in distaste as he looked between them. “Perhaps he can keep you in line.”

“I’ll kill myself first,” Mother said through clenched teeth, glancing behind her, wondering if she could make it past the dispersing knights through the portal in time.

The King sighed. “Men, take her.”

Three of them descended, and it took all of their strength to subdue her. Mother found herself, hair disheveled, shirt ripped, breeches torn, but arms now tied as they situated her in front of the knight she had run into coming out of the portal, his strong arm keeping her in place. She noted with satisfaction that two of them had cuts on their faces from the heels of her boots.

“I’m closing the portal!” The King announced. “It’s brought enough mischief.”

“Nooo!” Mother wailed as the King called his magician forward. The man, hooded in black, dismounted and stood in front of the enormous rock, holding up two very wrinkled, old hands as if in prayer. His words were unintelligible, but Mother knew exactly what he was doing-taking away her hope, her possibility of freedom.

“It is done, your majesty.” The old man mounted again, with the help of one of the King’s men. Another knight moved forward on the King’s command to test it, and indeed, his chest hit solid rock on his attempt to move through the portal.

“No,” Mother whispered, choking back tears as the knight, his body pressed tight behind hers, nickered to his horse and pulled on the reins.

“Take good care not to harm her too much.” George leered at them, looking up in his saddle. “That’s my job.”

Mother had visions of killing him in his sleep as they began the ride back toward the King’s estate. Her horses were tied and led along behind them, and Mother strained to look past, glimpsing one last view of the portal, where even if Artan wasn’t dead-she couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t-he would never be able to come through again. Her shoulders slumped at the thought and, defeated, she let her tears come silently, her hair falling in her face to hide them.

She heard George talking to the King, a ways ahead. He spoke loudly, and knew it was for her benefit. “She’s looking more compliant already, your majesty.” Mother shuddered, gripping the pommel in front of her until her knuckles turned white, not sure she could endure any more of him. And this ride back to the King’s estate would be nothing compared to what was waiting for her afterward. The thought of George touching her, even looking at her, made her breath catch and her stomach churn. She couldn’t possibly allow it. For Artan’s sake alone, she couldn’t.

She acted almost without thinking. The knight holding her had sensed her defeat and let go, focusing on easing his horse back down the hill and into the forest. It was here, at the long stretch of woods, that she plunged to what surely could have been her death, flipping herself head first toward the ground. Stunned, breathless, she found herself still alive, neck not broken, looking up at the belly of the horse as it stepped over her, and she struggled to her feet.

They came after her. Of course they did, on horseback, much faster than she could run, but she did have a slight head start. She zigged and zagged, moving

between trees, heading toward denser parts, knowing she could fit through smaller spaces than any horse. She flew like the wind, and when she was finally out of their sight-just for a moment-she hid beneath a hollow log, covering herself with brush and leaves and dirt, willing her breath away, praying they would go.

She didn’t know how long it took, but finally, they did go, the King vowing to come back with the dogs, and she knew he would. Of course, they wouldn’t just be any dogs, not regular domesticated dogs, but rather the dog-humans, whose sense of smell was ten times greater, who could track a man through water if they had to.

And where was she going to go? There was no portal left, no escape.

She unveiled herself carefully, slowly, listening to the sounds of the forest around her to make sure they were gone. When she was positive, she stood, leaning against a tree for a moment to regain her footing, her balance, her composure. Gathering her thoughts, she turned in the direction of the portal and began to walk. It was worth a chance, she thought. Perhaps the magician had left a hole, a gap, somewhere she could slip through.

She tried to keep herself down low in the tall grass, walking beside the path rather than on it, afraid of being out in the open, knowing the King might have posted a scout to watch for just this possibility. The portal stood, as it always had, looking huge and solid, but it had always been deceiving that way. Mother contemplated it for a moment, reaching a tentative hand out to touch its surface.

“No,” she whispered when her fingers touched the hard, rough surface, refusing to move through. She pressed harder, but the object was immovable. “No!” Frantic, she

searched the edges of the stone for resistance, scraping her fingernails against the rock, front and back, finally resorting to beating it with her fists. “No! No! No!” Finally, she collapsed, exhausted, sobbing on the ground. There was nothing left for her, then. Nothing. The world she’d left behind didn’t mean anything without the hope of Artan returning, and the other world she’d hoped to join was now inaccessible to her. Her future was beyond bleak, but she didn’t even care, her grief to raw and open to allow her to think much past her punishment. She didn’t fear it. She didn’t even fear death. What she couldn’t face was living without even a thread of hope that Artan would come for her.

She pressed her wet cheek to the cool dirt, closing her eyes, her thoughts returning to the last happy moment she’d had here, on a blanket spread wide in the field, feeding Artan fresh picked berries and honey. His bornday, her special surprise their picnic alone and a medallion he’d been searching for, found and brought through the portal by Willie in great secret.

She remembered the light in his eyes when he opened her gift, his face a mix of pleasure and disbelief. “Maren! Where did you find this?!”

“The man in the moon,” she teased. “Is it what you’ve been looking for?” He nodded, lifting it slowly in the bright sunlight, turning its silver surface over, studying the markings. “This here.” He pointed to the star shape on the back. “It’s authentic. You’ve found the real thing.”

“Well I should hope so,” she laughed and then mock-pouted, stretching out on the blanket. “You have no idea the hardship I went through to get it. Oh, the trials…!”

He grinned, leaning over to kiss her deeply, breathing her in, his hand pressing her naked breast, and then sliding down the firm, smooth flat plane of her belly.

“Now,” she whispered, threading her arms around his neck. “Let’s get busy making that baby we keep talking about.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss her again, this time briefly, a place holder. “I’ll be right back!”

“Artan!” She called after him, laughing, shading her eyes to see him shimmering through the portal. It was the last time she saw him-his smile roguish, his dark, curly hair too long and in need of a cut, wearing the medallion she’d given him as a gift.

She waited, all afternoon and toward evening, the setting sun bleeding through the sky like her heart broken open for everyone to see, until Blue had come on horseback, looking for them both. He’d taken her back to the house, insisting she not go through looking for him-there were things at home that needed to be taken care of, and he was right. Willie had gone, Blue, too, after a fashion, but had found no sign of him.

He had left her alone, waiting for him, her heart holding out hope for the words,

“Maren! I’m back!” whispered into her desperate ears.

But she’d never hear him say her name again. The thought clenched her belly and she sobbed, burying her face in her arms, wishing the pain away, wishing she could hear him, just one last time, whisper her name.

“Maren, I’m back!”

She sobbed harder, her body wracked with the months of waiting, of holding space for him to return, the words so real she almost felt them, the heat of his breath, soft and sweet against her ear.

“Maren! It’s me! It’s Artan-I’m home!”

Her head came up like a shot, and she thought she’d slipped into insanity, her mind finally letting go, giving her the mirage of her husband in her last, final moments.

His hair was long, his face full of beard, but his eyes were his, dark and mischievous, although more tired than she remembered. His clothes were strange, unfamiliar to her, but it was him. Artan was home.

She threw herself into his arms, and he took her weight easily, laughing as she kicked and screamed and pounded him.

“Where have you been!” she howled, beating his chest with her flailing fists, alternately kissing him and hitting him. “We thought…we thought…you were d-d…dead!”

“Far from it,” he assured her, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes searching her face. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, is that so?” Mother closed her eyes, shook her head, and laughed as she blinked at him, making sure he was still there. “Not anymore. Nothing matters now.”

“Mar-” She stopped his words with her lips, needing him, an assurance, he was here, he was home, he was hers. Their mouths slanted hungrily, bodies moving in long-remembered motion. The clothes gave them both pause, her unfamiliar breeches, his strange attire, but still, it wasn’t long before he was inside of her, piercing her to the very core of her being.

“Oh lover,” she sobbed, clutching him, pulling him onto, into her, wanting him deeper. “Husband, oh, Artan, love me, love me.”

“I do,” he whispered into her hair, their joining the final reality, the only moment that mattered. “Oh Mar, I’ve missed you

“Shhhhh.” She kissed him quiet, wrapping her legs around his waist, grinding her hips into his, giving him as much of herself as she possibly could. His cock was like iron in the wet heated forge of her flesh, and she was determined to soften him. Artan lowered his head to hers with a groan as she began to spasm, shuddering beneath him with a higher pleasure than she could ever remember.

“Ahhh!” He thrust again, one last glorious trip through her wetness, and emptied himself into her very center. Finally, finally. She held him close, refusing to let him go, keeping him there, kissing his cheeks, his mouth, until he softened inside of her and on top of her, too.

“I couldn’t get back.” He finally explained. “The King had men guarding the exit to the portal. They were ready to kill me.”

Mother shivered, pulling her clothes quickly back on, scanning the field, remembering now the danger they were in. “We need to go. Quickly.” They both had stories to tell, but it could be done while they were on the move.

She explained her predicament as briefly as she could, telling him of the taking of Jack and Jill, how afraid she was for their safety.

“I wouldn’t have thought him possible of anything truly heinous.” Artan frowned as he dressed quickly himself. “Until now.”

“Why does he want to kill you?” She stood, reaching for his hand.

Artan lifted his medallion-the one she’d given him. “This.”

“What is it?” she whispered, realizing with a shiver that she’d been responsible for giving him the very thing he might have been killed for.

“My past.” He took her offered hand, standing and pulling her into his arms. “My future.” Puzzled, she shook her head, and he explained further, “It’s a key to the portal.

Among other things.”

“That’s how you came through, even after it was closed?” He nodded, pulling her in to him and kissing her, hard. “Maren, I tried. I even tried to get messages back to you, to tell you I was coming home, as soon as I could.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Artan reached down and picked up a dark bag she hadn’t noticed he’d brought through with him. “Let’s go.”

“What’s that?” she queried, reaching for the bag, but he held it out of her reach.

“Later.” He grinned. “First, we have a date with the King.”