"It was like a dream," Father said earnestly, as if begging me and Joli to understand.
My breath froze in me as I heard this, I knew exactly what father spoke about since I'd experienced the same strange dreaming. I looked at Joli to see her reaction. Her face had turned white as ash. She clenched her hands in front. It seemed my sister had experienced it as well. I glanced toward Mother, but she shook her head.
Father was not as lucky as I was, he soon found he was trapped in this new garden. How he got there he didn't know and try as he might he could not return home. He wandered there a time, a pleasure long denied him. He came to a large standing of trees and there he met a man seated beneath it.
At first he though the man was a statue for his skin had a golden hue, most unnatural. His face had a wide tall forehead that made his golden eyes stand out brightly. His hair was a darker gleam, as if carved of a gold bronze. He wore a tunic woven of white threads and the patterned of tiny white leaves. His boots showed no trim or seams, as if they'd formed right on his feet. The man sat so still, barely moving at all, that Father thought he was a lifelike carving, until the man leaned over and peered at him, as if he was the curiosity.
"Good sir," Father addressed him. "I seem to be lost. Do you know where this is? Or how I might get back?"
The man looked at him, when he spoke his words flowed out much like a summery breeze. "Where do you wish to return to?"
"Harmony Wind," Father told him, naming the castle.
"No such wind exists."
"But surely you're mistaken. It's where I live, my castle. I was just there only an hour ago."
The golden man pointed to a path. "You should have said as much. The dying land you see is that way."
Any relief Father might have felt vanished at the golden man's words. "Dying? What do you mean dying?"
"The land there wastes, soon nothing more will grow upon it, not flower or tree, bird or beast. Soon the heart of the forest will not touch it. Only death will."
No one knew the state of the kingdom better than Father, and to hear this strange golden man foretell the death of everything - it tore at my father's heart.
"Why do you weep?" the golden man asked.
"That land is my home. I know it suffers, if I could but save it somehow, so that, at least, I may leave something for my daughters, a place for them to live."
"Come here," the golden man beckoned. "Take this flower from me and as long as you hold it you and the land will remained connected to the heart of the forest. But you must not tell anyone about the flower and if you show it to another soul, all ties will be lost."
Upon his outstretched hand bloomed a bright glowing rose, as if made of a liquid gold. Father gave his word, promising to do as the man instructed, then he reached down and plucked the warm rose from the man's hand, leaving behind a small tear in his golden skin. Three drops of bloom spilled out to the ground. Where they landed suddenly appeared three small sprouts, tree leaflings that began to grow taller right before my father's eyes. The golden man held his wounded hand to his breath as father thanked him profusely again and again.
The golden man spoken not another word.
As father took the path the man had indicated the small saplings had already grown six feet tall, and were still growing at an incredible speed. Soon they would be tall as the trees around them.
Father felt years lighter as he walked the path back to the castle, ten, not twenty years younger. He clutched the golden rose as the hurried along, but before leaving the strange garden he found another rose bush blocking his way. This one held a bright red rosebud that looked like a small flame. It was warm too, almost too hot to touch. He glanced around him, and then he plucked the rose bud off, thinking about how much wonderful it would be to share, especially since he had promised not to show or tell anyone about the golden rose. He remembered how much his youngest, how Joli loved to walk in the garden among the rosebushes.
And so he left that strange place with two roses in hand, one of red flame and one of bright gold.
to be continued . . .
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