There once was a prince who lived high up in the tipiest top of a castle tower. Even though he was only 11, he had done many princey things in his short life: he had lived in another castle across the sea, been captured by a wicked witch who turned him into a frog, been kissed by a princess who turned him back into a prince and immediately brought him back to her castle where she held him prisoner (although she wouldn’t call it that – that’s not very princessy) in the tipiest top tower of her castle.
Every morning, she’d come to the tower, unlock the door and squeal with delight as she held up an armful of new prince clothes. She’d dress him, comb his hair, and place a crown on his head. All the while chattering on and on and never listening to the poor prince. He decided he much preferred the life of a frog.
—
After the few torturous hours of baby-dolling by the princess, the young prince would sit at the window of the tower which overlooked the city below. He’d imagine himself playing jacks with the other children, or helping to sweep the landing of the bakery owned by his father – or at least the jolly looking man whom the prince would pretend was his father. He could also see from his tower, the piles of fruit at the produce stand, and the vendor who sat there for hours, inspecting his nails.
With a sigh, he said aloud, “I think I’d even prefer that life.”
—
Time passed. As the sun sank down, and the street lanterns lit up, the prince shifted his gaze to the countryside. There, he could make out images of farmers and their families finishing up their work for the day. Cleaning up the fields, smoke rising from the chimneys – dinners were being set. He could see in the far distance two people – a husband and wife, or maybe a brother and sister, carrying the final basket of crops from the late day.
Then somehow, their laughter, set upon the wind, rose up over the fields, through the quieting city and up through the window into the prince’s ears. It was laughter that brought with it a seed of hope that was planted into his heart.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” he said in the silence.
His gaze shifted around the empty stone room and landed on the pile of prince clothes left from months of the awful dress-up game. He raced over, grabbed a pair of trousers and a ruffley shirt and began to tie the garments into a rope.
The little seed in his heart sprouted.
Emily M.
King Druzelweiss was sitting on his big king-chair in his big king-hall, feeling melancholy as usual. Ploffenburg had long been thought to be the ugliest kingdom on the harbor, which was bad enough, but now it had also become the most indefensible. In spite of its ugliness, enemies had seen fit to attempt to conquer it, and they had begun by craftily draining its moat.
How exactly King Druzelweiss and his people had failed to notice this is not clear. Perhaps they felt secure in their ugliness, presuming that no one would ever be in a mood to expend the effort on such an unglamorous prize. Perhaps they had all been staring vacantly into space, as was their custom, and so missed all the signs that something fishy was afoot. Or maybe they were too busy catching and consuming actual fish, their only respectable resource, to be bothered with with anything as un-fishy as clandestine attacks.
Whatever the reasons, King Druzelweiss and the people of Ploffenburg now found themselves ugly, moatless, and wondering what was next.
***
Within the walls of Ploffenburg lived one (and only one) clever fellow by the name of Pregeroff. While everyone around him took their cue from the king and sank into melancholy despair, he devised a plan.
Why is it we sell only fish? He found himself thinking. Surely we have more options than THAT. He looked around him. Ploffenburg was ugly but not inhospitable to botany. Trees, plants, and weeds grew freely, but were left neglected by the unimaginative and uninspired inhabitants of the kingdom. Pomegranates fell rotting at the feet of their trees. Bird-eaten apple cores hung from many a branch. Why, even avocados and kiwi managed to grow in this kingdom of questionable locale.
Pregeroff knew that whatever invaders came, the only people who stood a chance against them were those who were resourceful. Which meant only he stood a chance.
***
He began to gather produce. He found a prominent place in the center of the kingdom and set up a shop, beautifully bedecked with fruits and vegetables of every color of the rainbow. No one from Ploffenburg came shopping, obviously. They were too busy sitting shut up in their homes, distressed and fearful, to bother going shopping for exotic fruit. Rather than twiddling his thumbs, the resourceful Pregeroff wove baskets while he waited for something to happen.
Slowly the invaders began to trickle in. They came through the streets, not wielding weapons, not shouting, not looking to intimidate. They walked slowly, looking around them, full of curiosity. The Ploffenburgians hid in their homes, staring out their windows with wide-open, suspicious, bored eyes. King Druzelweiss looked out the big windows of his big king-hall, watching the invaders stroll through the streets of his kingdom. He sighed a very melancholy sigh.
As they arrived at the kingdom center, where Pregeroff had his shop, they stopped in surprise. Pregeroff smiled widely, and invited them to buy some produce, which they did. As they stood around, munching on papayas and peppers and apples and purchasing baskets to put more of the delicious fruit in, the invaders asked Pregeroff why he was, apparently, the only entrepreneur in the city.
He explained about the general apathy that pervaded the kingdom, how the ugliness of their home had left the Ploffenburgians depressed and unmotivated and content to live on fish.
The invaders took a liking to Pregeroff, and decided that, since he knew the town so well, he ought to rule it. They marched up to the king-hall with him, where King Druzelweiss was sitting sadly in his king-chair.
“We have taken over this kingdom,” they informed him. “Pregeroff is now king.” Former-King Druzelweiss nodded glumly, stepped off his throne, and handed the crown to Pregeroff. “Good luck, lad,” he said, then walked out into the kingdom, never to be seen again.
“What?? That’s a ridiculous story,” said Suzanne, who was growing weary of carrying the collapsible produce stall she and her husband Henry owned.
“It’s not ridiculous, it’s true,” Henry protested from the other side of their baggage, pouting slightly. “And that’s why I love this produce stall. Produce today, a kingdom tomorrow!” And he increased his speed, hoping to get to their next roadside location quickly.
Suzanne rolled her eyes but kept up with him. He was the dreamer, she was the practical one. She knew very well that their produce stall would never produce anything more than produce. But she had always wondered about the “Ploffenburg” stamps on the planks of their crates.
Elisa
“Look, there!” Ryan pointed. He pushed a sweaty tangle of hair out of his sister’s widening eyes. Lillian caught her breath. After nearly a week of running on bloody, bare feet their sanctuary was in sight.
“Come,” he offered her a shoulder to ease her aching feet. “We’ll sneak into the city after dark.”
—-
The children awoke to the sounds of vendors setting up their wares before sunrise. Lillian woke first, alarmed by how loud her brother was breathing. Quietly she woke him and together they peered out from under the rubbish they had slept in. They were surrounded by food. Lillian groaned audibly and Ryan squeezed her arm. He could see she was crazed enough by hunger to do something foolish. “We’re so close, Lillian. Hold on!” he whispered, holding her tighter. Surely they would find food at the church. He knew his sister would not make it much longer.
—-
“Now!” Ryan urged his sister out into the breaking dawn, before more people came, with more food. She stumbled as they snuck behind the rubbish heap, away from the vendors. “Just a bite,” she was mumbling, incoherently, fumbling on the ground. With the last of his strength Ryan picked her up and carried her up an alley, keeping the spires of the church in view as long as he could. “Hold on,” he whispered.
Lillian was trying to hold on, to look up into her brother’s face, but sounds began to fade as she drifted out of consciousness. In her mind she saw a picture. At first it was distant and she strained to make out what it was. But slowly she drew closer to the two figures. They were carrying something, something large and heavy. Lillian strained to see them in her mind. It felt like everything hinged on it.
Finally she could see herself and Ryan. They were grown, but somehow she knew without a doubt. And they were hefting a bountiful harvest.
“Hold on, Lillian,” she heard her brother again, choking up.
Lillian opened her eyes and looked into Ryan’s. “It’s going to be okay,” she smiled, “We’re going to be okay.”
Cedar
Durenka was a hillside city at the edge of the Glasag Sea. Its tallest building was a church, made of brown stone like every other building in Durenka, with a rooftop glinting in the sunlight, and a high steeple rising up from the very center of the city. Andra looked at it wearily from a mile away. She was standing with her brother Tomas and their friend Devin, on ground soaked with summer rains. They’d come from the direction of Washbray, a city not important enough to be connected by road to Durenka; so they were traveling on foot through the marsh, their most direct route.
At the hottest part of the day, they walked in through the gates, unnoticed, except by the market vendors who shouted offers of their goods to all newcomers. Andra had never been in such a busy place before. It impressed her, and yet, it was not as busy as she had imagined it. It was too hot. Everyone moved slowly.
Devin was familiar with the city. He led them to a fruit stand, where a boy was reclining lazily on a stool. “The avocados are heavier in Dulsepi,” Devin said to the boy. It was the code! Andra thrilled to hear him say it. She had imagined what would happen when they gave the code. What sort of reaction would it produce—a wink, a nod, a sly smile, a bustle of action?
The boy did not react at all. He didn’t even glance up to get a better look at the three of them. After a second or two he got up slowly, and went through the doorway of a building behind his fruit stand.
Andra, Tomas, and Devin waited. Nothing happened. The boy didn’t come out again. They looked at each other, and were about to follow the boy into the building, when someone tugged Andra’s sleeve. It was a middle-aged woman. She smiled at Andra mischievously, and motioned to a man beside her, who carried a large bundle.
“Here you go!” the woman cackled as she shoved a little purse into Andra’s hand. “You’ve got to go all the way up and into the church. You know what to do,” she said, nodding. The woman winked at Andra, and then waved to the man, and they left.
Andra was exhausted and thirsty when they finally found themselves at the church. It was empty and its doors unlocked. They walked straight to the stained-glass window behind the altar. Devin pulled a small, blue, round stone from a pouch around his neck, and fitted it into a groove in the window. Tomas pulled out a red stone, and found a groove in the window for his, too. Andra took the pouch the woman in the street had given her. Inside was a yellow stone. She popped it into its groove in the window.
“Think it’ll work?” Andra asked after a moment of silence.
“It’s almost sunset. We’ll find out soon,” Tomas answered in his business-like way.
The green light of sunset came only minutes later. That awful, enchanted light that rushed over the country every night and made the air thick with evil magic. They could see green light through the windows; they could hear the whir of it rushing toward them; but it did not reach them.
Andra and Tomas and Devin hurried out of the church and looked around. They could hear people crying out. Durenka was under an invisible dome. The green light was everywhere, but Durenka stood within a bubble that was keeping it out.
Emily H
Can you describe the three images all the writers were shown?
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