ARWIN
Disheartened expressions melted away, and both blue women beamed up at him with pearly-white teeth.
Aoi’s expression was brimming with hope. “You will?”
Bleu seemed excited. “But what of Lord Azamont? They are in his possession, after all. He’s the most powerful noble in the land. And the most dangerous.”
At that moment, Arwin didn’t care. “No one person can own flowers. That’s absurd. They are things of nature and beauty and, therefore, belong to everyone. I shall liberate them for you from his garden prison.” Arwin wasn’t sure where this dashing dialogue was coming from, but he felt energized at the prospect of tackling this problem. It felt good to have a goal after weeks of malaise. Perhaps his recent misery was making him reckless. Either way, it felt like the right thing to do.
Clasping his hands in her own, Bleu cried, “Oh, thank you! You’re so brave.”
Arwin headed off in the direction of the ringing bells, feeling like he could take on the world. He slid through a dense thicket and climbed a short rise. He quickly found himself standing before a tall brick wall that was just slightly higher than he could reach. Huge flowers the size of dinner plates, each with large but dimly-coloured petals, grew directly out of the wall itself. Most seemed to avoid any direct rays of light, almost as if they were shy. That puzzled Arwin for a moment, but he soon got it. He chuckled.“Wallflowers.” He stepped back, tensed his body, and then stepped forward, launching himself up towards the lip of the wall.
“Hey! Watcha doin’ there, sunny?”
Arwin, surprised, slipped back down from the top of the wall and landed hard on his bottom. He scrambled up and spun about, looking for the source of the voice.
“Don’t turn yer back on me when I’m talking t’you!”
Arwin jumped in alarm, then turned about. He scanned the top of the wall but saw no figure there. Who was talking?
“Eyes front, young man. You daft or somethin’?”
Arwin lowered his gaze. Then he dropped his jaw.
Eyes and a mouth had appeared on the face of one of the wallflowers. That’s who was speaking!
He stammered, “Um-um...”
The flower spat, “Yes, Erysimum. Erysimum Wittmanii. That’s my name.” The eyes narrowed. “Watcha doin’ here? You know somethin’ about gardening?”
Arwin put on a confident air. “Yes. Actually, I’m Azimunk’s new gardener.”
“You mean Azamont?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Speech impedimonk.”
“Impediment?”
Arwin nodded. “Exactly.”
“Ah.” The wallflower sympathetically nodded. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.”
The flower’s eyes became suspicious once again. “Hey, if yer Azamont’s new gardener, why you climbin’ over this wall?”
“Shortcut.”
“Shortcut?”
“Faster than going all the way around, isn’t it?”
The wallflower tried to give that some thought, but flowers probably weren’t especially intelligent. It nodded. “Can’t argue with that. Very well. Carry on then.”
“Thank you, good sir.” Arwin leaped up and caught the edge of the wall. Gracefully, he pulled himself up and peered over the top.
A display of botanical wonder lay before him. Flowers of every shape and size could be seen, from pinhead dots of red on carpeting moss to giant blossoms the height of a man. Beyond the garden stood an orderly row of trees, and a huge, three-story chateau rose beyond those. The aged edifice was formed of heavy, pale stone and sported blue roof tiles. Like the dresses worn by the blue belles, the building had a French Renaissance feel to it, with white-framed windows and black-iron balconies, flowery etching in the walls, and plenty of ornament.
The air carried a host of enchanting perfumes from the garden. It also carried the sound of bells. Arwin saw no one else in the garden just then: the cobblestone paths were empty. He heaved himself over the wall and dropped down to the other side.
Following the tinkling sound, he cautiously wormed his way through exotic foliage. He passed a trellis of grapes. On the ground rested a bucket full of picked grapes marked FOR WINE. Next to it stood a rack on which lesser fruit dried into raisins in the sun.
One of the sad, leftover raisins wined as Arwin passed, “Aw. I guess I’ll never achieve grapeness.”
Arwin followed the edge of what appeared to be a crop of riding whips. They were made of braided leather and lashed out at him as he passed. Then he ducked under a palm tree. He had to move fast because the hand-shaped leaves tried to grope him. He came upon a stream babbling through smooth, water-worn rocks. Not wanting to get wet, he climbed a tree on the bank, went out on a limb and then branched out until he was able to drop down onto the opposite bank.
He found himself in a vegetable patch. Weeds smouldered between neat rows of planted foliage. He thought he recognized the leaves of the latter as potato plants. Taking a step, his toe nudged a mound of dirt, dislodging it.
A potato looked up with red, blurry eyes from where it had been unearthed. “Hey, dude. Like, watch where you’re going, man.”
“Oh, sorry.” Evidently, this was a baked potato. Ah, from smoking weed.
He walked by a fenced-off square with a quaint stone well. A dying tree drooped over both the well and some colourful flowers within the fenced-off section. A brown leaf, long dead, broke from the branch of the dying tree and gently fluttered down. The leaf landed on a bed of white carnations.
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The leaf transformed into a honeybee, and Arwin leaped back in surprise. The insect momentarily hovered in the air as if confused, then it shrugged and began tending to the flowers. When the bee touched the blossoms, nothing happened to it; there was no further change.
Arwin realized it was because the bee was alive and the leaf hadn’t been. Those were no ordinary carnations. They were reincarnations! Arwin’s mind spun.
He continued. He failed to notice the patch of flowers growing on the edge of the path and bumped into them. They shouted up at him in response.
“Hey, clumsy! Begone, yuh!”
“Yeah, go away. Begone, yuh!”
“Begone, yuh!”
Arwin danced away from the pesky little flowers barking at him. Be-gone-yuhs.
He ducked out of the reach of some adorable snapdragons who blew fire and snapped at him with toothy little petals. Feeling hungry, he sampled fresh buttercups, spreading the butter over cornbread, growing hot and warm on tall stalks. He washed the snack down with edelweiss beer drunk from tall, white flower pods. The dirt below a few was wet, and the whole edelweiss patch smelled of hops and barley. Satiated, he moved on, admiring birds of paradise blooming high above him, careful not to come within reach of their long, sharp beaks.
Little blue flowers tugged at his jeans as he passed and begged him to, “Forget me not!” He guessed their name readily enough.
A beautiful black fox slunk through a hole under the base of the outer wall. It paused for a moment to regard Arwin with shrewd eyes but apparently found him no threat. Then it proceeded to place its paws into two flowers, fixing them on like purple mittens: foxgloves. Nodding with satisfaction at its classy new attire, the fox trotted back through the hole into the forest.
Arwin wondered what a fox needed gloves for. Perhaps it was just a very fashionable vixen.
Gladiolus blooms filled Arwin with a wave of gladness. It was very refreshing after the melancholy of the blue forest. He admired a patch of beautiful lady slippers. They grew next to a bench where one could sit and try them on for size, for they were, of course, real footwear, from pumps to heels to slippers.
For a few minutes, Arwin stopped and marvelled at the wonders around him. He could never have imagined such a place. It was totally unlike anything he’d ever experienced back home. For the first time in too long, true excitement welled up from within him, and he felt happy again, thrilled to be able to experience something like this. And grateful that something could take him away from the horrible depression he’d been submerged in for so long. He moved on with a skip and a jump of joy.
At last, he came to the bluebells. Their stems emerged from clumps of broad leaves and stood about half a meter tall. All along the stems dangled delicate blue bells, their petals metallic-looking as if they were shiny little Christmas decorations.
He bent to pick a couple and then stopped. He could pick the flowers and carry them back to the belles, but that would really only be a temporary gift, wouldn’t it? They’d soon die. The more significant problem, that of this Azamont jerk having the only bluebells in the area, remained.
What Arwin needed to do was to dig up some of these plants and carry them back over the wall where they could be replanted and left to spread naturally. Then the belles and everyone else could enjoy them freely. He eagerly rubbed his hands at the idea and cast about for tools.
From a dilapidated garden shack, he armed himself with a trowel and a burlap sack. He went to work. In the span of fifteen minutes, he’d dug up a dozen full plants. All were superb specimens. He picked the first one up to put it in the bag. The bells harshly jingled, completely breaking their natural rhythm. With concern, he looked towards the chateau. If he handled the delicate flowers roughly, the ensuing cacophony would surely raise someone’s unpleasant attention.
He waited, but it seemed that no one had noticed his blunder. He moved the plant very slowly and gently as he placed it within the burlap sack, roots and all, laying it down so that the bells stayed silent. Very carefully, he did the same with each of the other plants. He tied the sack shut with a length of twine and quietly slung the bag over his shoulder.
A voice shouted, “You there! What are you doing?”
Arwin whirled. An arrogant-looking, aristocratic man stood at the garden door to the mansion. He was tall and reedy and immaculately dressed in a half cloak, long-skirted tunic and tights. Like the belles, his heavily embroidered clothes were in the Renaissance style, and his skin was blue. He bore a thin moustache and pointed beard and glowered through small, wire-framed glasses. Two gentlemen behind him were dressed similarly, like actors from a Shakespearean play. One had a sword belted at his waist and wore a monocle over one eye.
The lead man exclaimed, “You’re not one of my gardeners. How dare you pilfer from my garden, thief?”
That must be Azamont. Arwin recalled all that had been said about him and the bluebloods and how people like him caused pain in the world around them. Arwin spun and sprinted away. He paid no heed to the angry shouts behind him and dashed back through the exotic plants towards the point where he’d entered the garden. This time, he leaped the stream at full speed, just clearing it. Then he was at the wall.
This felt just like an event he had recently been practicing for with his good friend back on Earth: Storming the Wall. Only this wall was a little shorter, and he could climb it without help from a teammate.
He timed his jump perfectly. One foot landed between two wallflowers who cringed and tried to lean out of the way. Despite the vertical grip, Arwin pushed off the wall and was able to propel himself further upwards. His free hand grabbed the top of the wall. Pulling quickly while he still had upward momentum, Arwin managed to get his other foot cleanly on top of the wall. He looked behind him, the bag of stolen bluebells slung over his shoulder.
The three aristocrats skidded to a halt on the path behind him.
Azamont turned and pushed the other two men back towards the mansion. “To the horses! We’ll ride the bugger down!”
Arwin turned and lowered himself down the wall on the forest side with one hand, then dropped to the ground.
The wallflower he’d spoken to earlier must have heard a tinkle coming from Arwin’s sack as the young man landed. It archly asked, “Are those bluebells in there? Watchya doin’ with ‘em?”
Arwin innocently answered, “Just taking them for a walk. Show them around the forest. Trying to cheer them up so they aren’t so blue anymore.”
“Hmm. Oh. Ok.” The wallflower nodded. “Carry on then.”
Arwin grinned and hurried through the forest. In moments, he arrived in the little clearing.
Bleu and Aoi smoothly rose to their feet at his approach.
Bleu cried out, “Arwin!”
“Be not blue, blue belles, for I have your bluebells.” Arwin opened the bag and revealed the contents.
Aoi gushed in surprise, “You’ve brought the entire plants! You brilliant man! Now we can plant these anywhere.”
Arwin agreed. “And enjoy them anytime.”
Azamont shouted from afar, “You there! Thief! Stop and prepare to die!”
Arwin saw Azamont and his peers emerge from the forest on steeds. They set about whipping the latter.
The foxy, black vixen with the new gloves exploded from a patch of brush and tore off across the meadow. She barked and startled the horses and riders, causing them to pull up in confusion and giving Arwin valuable time.
Fighting to control his mount, his face livid, one man exclaimed, “Why, those are our belles!”
The man with the monocle bawled, “Fiend! Death to the fool who dares touch our property!”
“Death because I stole some flowers? Are you nuts?” Arwin scrambled to his feet.
Aoi and Bleu rose, panic in their eyes.
Aoi pleaded, “You must flee!”
Bleu begged at the same time, “Run!”
Arwin took a half step, then paused. “I’ll lead the nobles into the forest. Take the flowers and hide them away.” Then he dashed off towards the trees.
A scream caught his attention, and he looked back over his shoulder as he ran.
Bleu and Aoi lay on the ground with arms over their heads, close to being trampled and killed, while the nobles callously ran their horses over the young women in pursuit of the one they believed had wronged them. While Azamont determinedly continued straight for Arwin, the other two took the time to have their horses stomp as close as possible to the belles, brutally scaring them. One misstep by one of the stallions would break bones or ravage flesh.
A cry of anguish for their plight caught in Arwin’s throat. He felt a mixture of anger and guilt. The urge to turn and help almost brought him around, but Azamont was nearly upon him, and the other two nobles quickly left their victims behind to rejoin the hunt. Arwin plunged into the forest, hoping the women would escape unscathed.