Free Golden by Cameron Dokey

next to Mr. Jones.
    â€œYou ran a long way,” she said. “Was it far enough?”
    â€œI’m not sure I know.”
    â€œYou’ll appreciate a drink of water, in any case,” the tinker said.
    â€œI would,” I acknowledged. “And a change of headgear, I think.”
    â€œFortunately for you, I believe I can assist with both.” He handed over the waterskin, then climbed down from the seat of the wagon and began torummage in the wagon itself. The sides had been rolled up, I noticed. Our hiding place was now completely gone.
    â€œHarry found this, our last trip together,” the tinker said, and he handed me what my fingers told me was yet another piece of cloth, even as my eyes watched it flash in the sun. “He intended to give it to you himself, of course.”
    After that first gift of cloth for a kerchief, Harry had continued to bring me such presents from time to time. Each more elaborate and fanciful than the next, till even Melisande looked forward to seeing what would arrive. Some were shot through with threads of gold and silver. Others were woven of every color I could imagine, and even some that I could not. The most recent had been stitched to resemble a peacock’s tail, with actual feathers fluttering along its edges. We’d put that one on the head of the scarecrow in the cornfield, where it had successfully intimidated the crows.
    I held the fabric by one corner and let the rest flutter out in the breeze.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, I can’t wear this!” I exclaimed. “I’ll blind the horse.”
    â€œYou might at that,” Mr. Jones agreed. For, rather than being covered only with embroidery, this cloth was decorated with tiny mirrors held in place with elaborate stitches in red and silver. “It’s very beautiful, though. I can see why Harry thought you might like it.”
    â€œHarry” I said, and tried not to hear the way my voice threatened to turn those two syllables into a sob.
    â€œHe’ll be all right, Rapunzel,” the tinker said. “He’s young and strong, and he knows the roads.”
    â€œOf course he’ll be all right,” I said, as if I could hide my fears by the crossness in my voice. “It’s just so like him to be late.”
    â€œHe’s not late yet,” said Melisande. Then, to my surprise, she hopped down from the wagon seat. “Here,” she said. “You ride and I’ll run for a while. By nightfall we will come to a place where the river turns to run beside the road. There is a small stand of trees where the river bends that makes a fine campsite. There I will answer all the questions you’ve been so careful not to ask. For which I am most grateful, by the way.”
    â€œCan I have a bath?” I inquired.
    â€œYes,” the sorceress answered, and she smiled.
    â€œThat question I can answer now.”
    â€œI heard what he said to you,” Melisande said, late that night. “The boy, that last day, in our yard. He said that you were cursed. Not only is this cruel and unfair, it’s also untrue. For it is not you who is cursed, my Rapunzel. It is I.”
    We had come to the bend in the river, just as the sorceress had declared we would. Made camp, eaten our dinner, and washed from our bodies the stains that fear makes, and the dust from the road. Now thethree of us sat around a small, bright campfire, while Mr. Jones’s horse grazed nearby.
    The tinker had brought out a pipe, and its bowl illuminated his face, then darkened it again, as he puffed. Its fragrant smoke mingled with the smoke of the fire. The water beside us made a cheerful sound. I was grateful for this, for I had found to my surprise that the land made me nervous in the darkness. It was so great and open and wide. In it, Melisande’s words seemed to fly out in every direction, gone almost before I could understand what she had said.
    â€œHow can that