Here’s the second installment of Next to Nieveaux, for your reading pleasure!
Princess Picclapena Breaches The Curve
Picclapena looked at Ezra skeptically, but his face seemed to reveal no trace of guile. Well, she thought, what could it hurt to just go outside for a moment? And the churla was indeed extremely cute. She hesitated and then made up her mind.
“Okay,” she said. “How do I do it?”
“You just do it. Watch.” Ezra stretched his arm beyond the Curve, and it seemed to penetrate an invisible plane.
Picclapena gathered all her courage and stuck her right arm through the plane. Ezra smiled approvingly. Then, his eyes got bigger, and he seemed startled.
“What is it?” asked Picclapena.
“Uh, nothing, nothing. I just thought I saw something on your arm when you pushed it through the Curve. No problem.”
“Oh, yes. That is just a birthmark.” Picclapena pushed the right sleeve of her gown up above her elbow and showed Ezra a small, cross-shaped lavender-colored mark.
“Yes, yes. I see that now. Do you want to go further before that churla runs away?”
Picclapena, momentarily distracted from her task by the observation of her birthmark, took another deep breath. She wrinkled her forehead, scrunched up her nose, closed her eyes, stamped her foot, and plunged through the plane.
When she opened her eyes, she found that she was Outside the Curve. She had not really expected it to work, but there she was. She looked around curiously. The first thing she noticed was that there was no snow on the ground. Next, she saw a clump of trees growing nearby. They looked so solid. The roundness of their trunks, the roughness of their bark, the subtly assorted colors that covered them- everything about the trees was so much lusher and more nuanced than the trees in Nieveaux.
In that moment of distraction, the churla had scuttered away. Disappointed, Picclapena looked around her for someone to advise her on what to do next. She looked towards the Curve but could no longer see Ezra. In fact, to her dismay, she could not even see the Curve. She stood on the green ground under the trees, trying to figure out what to do… and trying desperately not to cry. She stood there for a rather unreasonable amount of time waiting for someone to come by, but nobody happened to cross her path.
As she waited, Picclapena noticed that something strange was happening. The sky, which had been just as bright and blue as the sky in Nieveaux earlier in the day, was changing. Cotton candy colors swirled around the clouds. The colors and the play of the shapes in the air made Picclapena think of a kaleidoscope she played with when she was very young. The colors in the sky, though, were so much softer, warmer, and more amorphous than the garish, sharp-edged tones in her kaleidoscope. In fact, the colors in the sky were more than just colors. They engaged more than just Picclapena’s eyes. They immersed her. They danced in the air like graceful ballerinas. Picclapena wanted to fling her arms into the air and join their corps. She thought she could almost hear the notes and themes of a sweet, pure, exquisite symphony wafting gently like visual music from the sky. As Picclapena watched the beautiful color ballet, nothing else seemed to matter beyond the glory of the sky.
Soon, though, the colors faded into a dull grey. As the sky darkened, the evening grew cold. Almost before she realized it, Picclapena noticed that the sky was black. She could not see well enough to find her way back to the Curve. She realized she was hungry and tired. She fished around and found the cookie she always kept in her pocket in case of emergencies. She started eating the cookie while she thought about how she could find her way back to Nieveaux. Just as she was eating the last crumbs of her cookie, she spied a churla a few feet ahead of her. The churla’s bright white fur seemed to glow, providing a sort of beacon to light the path ahead of her.
Picclapena inched her way towards the churla. When she got close to it, she exclaimed, “Oh, you cute, dear little thing.” She reached out to pet it. Suddenly, the churla’s white fur turned a bright pink color. The churla smiled a terrible smile, revealing pointed, serrated teeth. The churla reared back to hurl itself at Picclapena, who screamed and turned to run away.
“There really is no sense in that,” said Ezra, as he stepped between Picclapena and the churla. “Churlas are much faster than you could ever hope to be. Best not to rattle them to begin with. Once they have a notion to attack, it is not easy to put them back in their place. Look what’s coming now.”
Picclapena looked and saw a whole colony of vibrant pink churlas approaching. Panicking, she began to climb a nearby tree. Ezra nodded approvingly. “That’s the ticket,” he said. Churlas are afraid of heights. He did not seem particularly bothered by the churlas himself.
“What are you doing here?” Picclapena yelled from the tree. “Where did you come from? You were there and then you weren’t. I didn’t know where you had gone.”
“No, dear. You were there and then you weren’t. I stayed exactly where I was.” Ezra looked up at her in the tree. The churlas, seeing there was no chance for a quick meal of organic princess, decided to go in search of easier prey. The color of their fur transformed back to brilliant white. “So, you can’t stay up there forever. What are you going to do?”
“I want to go home!” Picclapena cried, as she scrambled down the tree trunk. As she did so, she scraped her shin on the jagged bark and exclaimed in pain when she saw thin stripes of blood seep from her skin.
“Well, it is not that easy,” replied Ezra. Now that you have been outside the Curve this long, you cannot just go back home. At least, not right away. You have to earn your way back in. You must first find something to bring back that will make life better in Nieveaux.”
“You mean, I have to find some kind of magic to get back to Nieveaux?” asked Picclapena.
“I never said anything about magic. You just need to bring back something that will make life better in Nieveaux.”
“What could there possibly be out here that is better than Nieveaux? It is scary and dangerous out here.”
“True enough… maybe you are right. Maybe there is nothing better out here. Surely this green grass isn’t better than the snow-covered ground in Nieveaux. Surely the everlasting light in Nieveaux is better than the night here Outside the Curve. And you have the royal orchestra in Nieveaux to play music. Surely, that is just as good as the symphony of the sunset?”
“Well,” frowned Picclapena doubtfully, “I suppose those things out here are very nice, but I am not sure they are worth it. Those churlas are scary!”
“Yes, but sometimes something wonderful lies just below scary,” Ezra mused. “I’m not sure that’s the case with churlas, but why don’t you do some exploring and see what you find out here Next to Nieveaux? After all, you cannot go back home until you find something of value to bring with you. You might as well get started”.”
“But there is this strange darkness, and I can’t see where I am going and I am very tired,” protested Picclapena. “Will the light ever come back to the sky?”
“Yes, in ten hours or so, it will be morning, and the light will return to the sky. You will see the path before you clearly. In the meantime, you might want to rest and gather strength because you are going to need a tremendous amount of power. It is an arduous task to find something wonderful to bring back to Nieveaux.”
“Maybe I should wait until the sky lights up again. But then I will have lost ten hours that I could have been searching! What is the wisest thing to do?” asked Picclapena.
“What do you think is the best thing for you to do?” asked Ezra.
“I don’t know! I just don’t know! That’s why I am asking.”
“You know better than I do what the best thing for YOU to do is. You are the expert at you, not me.”
“I’m sorry, Ezra, but that is not much help. If I am the expert in this situation, we are both in trouble.”
“You are much more competent than you think. Truly. The wisest thing to do is the best thing for YOU to do. You must proceed at your own pace. If you push ahead before you are strong enough to start the quest, you won’t make as much progress. On the other hand, if you are ready to move forward but postpone, you will meet with frustration and despair of your wasted opportunities. You decide.”
Picclapena and Ezra stood in companionable silence in the dark. Picclapena scowled and pondered hard. Ezra let her.
“I think I will go back up in that tree until morning so those vicious little churlas can’t get me. There was a handy little notch in the branches up there that will give me a place to sleep safely. Then, when the sky lights up, I will start trying to find the magic to bring back to Nieveaux.”
“That sounds like a sensible plan. Remember, though, you do not have to find anything magic to bring back to Nieveaux- just something that will make life better there.”
“But isn’t that a kind of magic in itself?” asked Picclapena.
“Yes, I guess you do have something there. Anyway, good night.”
Ezra turned and began to walk into the darkness.
“Wait, wait… where are you going?” cried the princess.
“Oh, I’ll be around if you need me. I am just going to do a few things.” Then, Ezra was gone.
Picclapena climbed into the tree and arranged herself in the notch as comfortably as she could. The tree was hard and unforgiving. The bark was rough. Her hair caught on branches and leaves as she tried to snuggle into a familiar sleeping position. Shifting and wiggling, Picclapena realized how much she missed the satin pillows and quilted blankets on her cuddly, bouncy bed in the palace. As she stared out into the dark, clouded sky, she felt sobs simmering in her gut. Tears began to ooze from her eyes and the pain in her stomach started spreading through her ribs and heart. Her sides started pressing in on her and her throat tightened. The sobs constricted to make their way into her head. When they finally released themselves, they were tight, dense, and sharp-edged. She sobbed into the night, but no one could hear her.
Just as the sobs were wearing Picclapena out and exhausting her to sleep, a cloud passed over the sky above her. In the wake of the cloud, a skyscape of stars appeared. Picclapena had never seen how brilliantly the stars could sparkle when piercing through a pure black sky. Her sobs subsided and her eyelids fluttered closed.
When the sun woke her the next morning, Picclapena clumsily climbed down the tree. She was not sure how to proceed with her quest. She felt rested, but hungry and empty. She had no real idea how to start searching for magic to bring back to Nieveaux, but she was fairly certain that she would not find it sitting in a tree. She heard the noises of a community in the distance and began walking towards them. As she walked away from the trees, further from the Edge of the Curve and further from Nieveaux, she saw a small village. She headed purposely towards the village, hoping to find food and guidance. She was certain that anyone would surely assist her when they learned she was the Princess of Nieveaux.
When she got close to the village, Picclapena hesitated. She felt anxious and shy about approaching anyone in the village. Supposing the villagers were not willing to provide help to the Princess of Nieveaux? Supposing the villagers had never heard of Nieveaux? What would happen? She paused by a small creek near the village. She found that she was quite thirsty, so she sat down and cupped her hands to gather a drink of water from the creek. As she drank, she realized she had never been so thirsty in all her life. She drank and she drank, and she drank until she could drink no more, but she was still thirsty. When she paused to catch her breath, she noticed that her arm was throbbing. There were some brambly bushes by the side of the creek. She looked closer and saw that they were thorny and tangled. However, at the very center of the brambly mess of bush, she saw that there were some shiny, luscious looking blackberries growing. The berries were almost as big as Picclapena’s fist.
Picclapena gingerly wove her hand amongst the brambles to pick a blackberry. Each time she tried; her hand caught on a thorny vine. Her skin caught and tore each time she pushed forward towards a blackberry. The streaks on her hands began to sting. They made angry lines on her skin. Picclapena began to weep in frustration. She sat cross-legged next to the blackberry bush and cried in despair. She was so intent on crying, she did not notice that she had company in the blackberry thicket. Finally, she heard a cooing noise and looked up to find a whole flock of churlas staring at her. One by one, their brilliant white fur changed to bright pink. Many of the churlas already eyed her greedily, their mouths open to bare their deadly teeth.
There were no trees in sight and Picclapena had no idea how to escape. She wondered if she really even wanted to escape. This world outside Nieveaux was dangerous and scary. She was far from home. She was hungry and thirsty. She was alone. There was nothing for her anymore. Maybe it would be best if she simply sat still and let the churlas get her. She had just about made up her mind to succumb when one of the still white churlas turned away from her and towards the other churlas. This lead churla made a snarling noise and the other churlas shrank away. Once the others had all disappeared, the lead churla turned back to face Picclapena. He cooed and gurgled menacingly at her, slinking towards her. Then, he climbed onto her lap and snuggled against her body. He let out a final grunt of satisfaction and curled himself into a ball as he fell asleep cuddled against Picclapena’s abdomen.
Picclapena did not know what to do but she reasoned that it probably was not a clever idea to wake a sleeping churla. She sat quietly, pondering her options, and trying to evolve a plan. She was still very hungry and very thirsty. She still had no idea how to find any magic to take back to Nieveaux. She still did not know if the people in the village, if she was ever able to escape the churla, would be friendly or not.
The churla eventually awoke.
“Hello,” said the churla.
“You talk?” exclaimed Picclapena.
“Of course I talk. I am a churla.”
“I didn’t know churlas talked,” explained Picclapena.
“Of course you didn’t. No one does. No one ever gets close enough to find out that we talk. Not that I blame them. Most of those churlas are not very nice.”
“I’ll say! Churlas have almost eaten me twice in the last couple of days! I am so scared of them. They are so dangerous and ferocious!”
“Oh? Am I so dangerous and ferocious?” asked the churla.
“You don’t seem to be… but why aren’t you trying to eat me?”
“Not all the churlas are the same, little girl. You are right about most of them. They look adorable, but once you get close to them, they transform. There is a poisonous substance that ignites in their bodies when they attack. It turns their fur pink. They tear their prey to bits with their sharp, serrated teeth. The poison that turns their fur pink also paralyzes and poisons their prey. There is a strain of mutant churlas, though. We do not have the gene for producing the poison. We hang out with the toxic churlas for protection, but we do not attack. We eat blackberries, not people.”
“Oh my! I am lucky you were with that flock of churlas, aren’t I? Thank you so much! Why did they leave when you turned to them?”
“That’s easy. In churla culture, we mutants are considered the Wise Ones. The toxic churlas are afraid of us. We know them for what they are, so they want to avoid us. We move from flock to flock, being as inconspicuous as we can. Then, when something happens like today, we reveal who we are to the toxic flock. Truth be told, most toxic churlas believe we are as poisonous to them as they are to you. I am not sure if that is true because I never tried to poison any of them.”
“I don’t know what to say!” exclaimed Picclapena.
“Why don’t you start by telling me your name, little girl?” suggested the churla.
“Oh, I’m not a little girl. That is, I am a little girl, but I am also the Princess Picclapena of Nieveaux,” explained Picclapena.
“Never heard of it. I’m not even sure I know what a princess is, but you are welcome to hang out with me anyway. My name is Chomp. It is irony. I don’t chomp.”
“Yes, I see. I am pleased to meet you Chomp. I hope we are going to be great friends.”
“I am sure we will be. For right now, I would sure love to have something to eat. Do you happen to have any blackberries?” replied Chomp.
“Now that you mention it…” began Picclapena, looking ruefully at her tattered hands. “There are tons of blackberries in the brambles over there. They look so luscious. They look much bigger than any blackberries I have ever seen. I am so hungry and the water from the creek did not slake my thirst. I have been trying so hard to gather blackberries, but all I have been able to do is shred my hands.
“You are in luck,” responded Chomp. “Mutant churlas are expert blackberry hunters. Our bones are pliable so we can squeeze ourselves into tiny areas away from thorns. Our skin is tough and resistant to prickles. If we do hurt ourselves on the brambles, we heal immediately. Let me get us some blackberries.”
Picclapena watched as Chomp wiggled under the brambles and disappeared into the thatch. When he emerged, he carried a large blackberry in his mouth. He left it at Picclapena’s feet and went back to retrieve a blackberry for himself. They ate their meal companionably. Picclapena found that the blackberry completely satisfied both her hunger and the ever-present thirst. When they finished eating, Picclapena stretched out on the grass, relaxing for the first time since she ventured Outside the Curve. With Chomp to protect her from the toxic churlas, she felt safe. Chomp snuggled next to her. Picclapena told him the whole strange story of Nieveaux and the Curve, Ezra, and her quest, and all the things she ever wanted to tell anyone. Chomp listened quietly until they both fell asleep.
When Picclapena woke up, she saw she was not alone. Chomp was still there, but Ezra had also appeared.
“Hello,” she said. “I wondered when you would show up. You said you would be here when I needed you. I kind of needed you yesterday.”
“You look okay to me. Looks like you found a friend,” Ezra observed.
“Yes, this is Chomp. He is a mutant churla who eats blackberries. He saved me from a flock of toxic churlas. He’s my friend now.”
“Good. I knew you would be fine. You have resources. You have skills. You should be proud of yourself. What’s next on the plan?”
“I still need to find some magic to bring back to Nieveaux. Chomp is pretty magical, but I am not sure if having a churla- even a mutant one- in Nieveaux would really make life better. Maybe Chomp has some ideas on where I can look.”
“I’m right here,” Chomp muttered at them. “Yes, I have some ideas. It has to be up to you to figure out what you want and get it, but I may be able to point you in a direction.”
“The right direction?” asked Picclapena.
“Maybe. That rather depends on you, doesn’t it?” Chomp replied crossly. He gurgled irritably. Churlas, even non-toxic ones, do not like being woken from a nap.
Ezra smiled and nodded. “I think you are exactly right, Chomp. It sounds like a great adventure, though. A churla and a princess on a quest for magic. This I have to see. Do you mind if I come along?”
“I think perhaps you had better,” answered Picclapena.
Have an adventurous day! See you next week..
Terri/Dorry 🙂
