The Garden of Golden Bones

The boy found the jar hidden beneath the roots of a dead and dying fig tree. In the one place he was never supposed to be, the tempered gardens.

It was no larger than his hand—the jar, not the tree. Bubbling glass that made it difficult to make out the shape that was confined within. Deep purple wax sealed the jar, melting down the sides, almost as though the wax had been poured over the jar in the dirt to keep someone like him from seeing it, spotting it, growing curious enough to take a gander. Or maybe it was to keep whatever was in the jar from escaping. He couldn’t be too sure.

If this tiny jar really was that dangerous, it wouldn’t be lying out in the open like this, the boy mused contentedly. Though he hadn’t had enough time to ponder the consequences, the jar tilted to one side in his hand. Not from a bug, or a liquid.

A person, a man. Impossibly small, and even shorter in stature—with long spindly limbs— fingers that crawled across the glass like daddy-long-legs.

“Open it, let me out,” the man whispered, pointing up to the lid. “It’s quite warm in here, dark.”

The boy shuddered. He had been warned against talking to strangers, let alone picking up ones that live in tiny jars. But, alas, he was tired, bored, lonely. Starving for something new in a town where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. What would it hurt to let this man out, he was no bigger than a grasshopper, after-all.

“What’s your name dear child?”

The boy hesitated, unsure if he should offer up something so sacred, so treasured, so personal.

“Crius,” the boy whispered, still hesitantly.

“Crius, what?”

The boy did not mention he was of the family Ulric. Instead, he slipped a finger under the sharply dried wax and began to peel it off, breaking part of the seal. Wondering if he should just poke holes in the top for air. He did find it strange the man could breathe within such a tightly sealed space.

“That’s it, keep going, almost there.”

The impatience in this man’s persistence was nothing compared to the way he unfolded himself from the jar—just like a rabid spider unfurling from the tiniest hole, almost doubling in size. He was slightly taller but still incredibly thin. There would be no way to get him back in the jar now, not like this. He was dressed in a dark viridian green suit with gold threaded pinstripes that had strange symbols hemmed at the edges. He wore a similarly crafted top hat, green and black with a large set of flowers woven in—the black petals sewn so perfectly, it appeared as though they too, dripped in gold. In his pockets, he dug around, his grimy fingers pulling out handfuls of gold spooled threads, needles of varying sizes, and tiny, glowing beads.

His smile was much larger now, taking up nearly his entire face, his eyes even bigger, round, like the moon with such an intensity, it was captivating.

There was something about him. His smile hid something even the brightest of lights couldn’t handle.

“You are a moth, my dear boy, a moth. Nonetheless, I am happy you found me and my happy abode. Now that I see you a little closer up, you are not a mere boy, but a young man. What are you fifteen, eighteen? Just small, like me, but that is no bother. We all start somewhere.”

The boy smiled, still hesitantly, nervously—still not offering up an answer.

“I see you are going to be tricky,” the man said, smiling brighter. “I sell magic, but not for your little crumbs, it’s much more than money, if you are lucky enough to find out for yourself, that is. This life may just surprise you.”

The boy laughed, much more nervously than he smiled.

“What kind of magic do you sell, sir?”

The man tilted his head, his leering grin only lighting half his face, as he studied the young boy.

“I can tell you all about yourself,” he began.

“I can tell you secrets, secrets filled with magic only the brightest souls can witness. I can attest to that my dearest, young boy. For I have seen them, I have invented them, I have sewn those thoughts into existence. I am the dust of walking proof and you, you have the lust of wander written all over your face, I would know. This town, this city, these woods, they do little to quell your growing soul. Just look, soon enough, you will see. Rays of golden light spilling across the tiles of a gilded courtyard. Only the chosen will see it. Her beauty, she stands by the fountains, flowing layers drifting through arches of jasmine like a wayward fancy. She is your future. Blush, silken lavender, shimmering turquoise. The finest diamonds and the best of riches. All the drippings of gold catching the sun, burning the eyes of those unworthy to see. Silken spiders spinning into a dream. Hordes of royal doves lifting gently from gold capped cages as they fill the skies, their wings humming like a thousand angels to her own tempting magic. They say, her palace, the palace, your palace only appears to those who truly believe in it, rising up from the desert sands—be it in the middle of a forest, a lake, a garden, or a mountain. Literal thin air, only appearing for a heart that holds wonder. In a few years’ time, you will understand what it is to find and fall in love, but be careful, some illusions are just that, cages spun from the purest of golds. A place that only needs to be seen to know it exists. The question is, do you believe, and, do you still want to proceed? I need you to say it...”

As the man spoke, the woods around them began to grow darker, to dim. The grass dying, shriveling around them to errant straw. The air filling with jasmine, honeysuckle and roses. Hot sand and stone sprouted all around erasing the woods he once knew.

The boy saw her, a princess kneeling alongside a scalloped fountain, jeweled pebbles shimmering in the water. The skies above burned radiant, washing them in gold as clouds whispered gently, all props in comparison to her beauty.

Her eyes held the depths of shaded water—woeful and spirited, yet impossibly stunning. Her glowing skin nearly translucent under such magnificent heavens. She wore a rose dress with hair enchanting blonde. She was divine. Absolutely divine.

“Is she real?” the boy whispered.

“Oh yes, yes she is, my dear boy,” the man answered, “but, she is waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Waiting for someone foolish enough to wish for her, to hope for her, to pray for her.”

The boys heart pounded loudly in his chest. He didn’t wonder why a foolish man would wish for such splendor. In all his life he hadn’t dreamed of anything as wondrous as the world he was now immersed. He always wanted his own secret kingdom with hidden doors and magical gardens. Being chosen by someone so beautiful, as she, the princess. It was a life he could only conjure in far-off memories, as he was mostly forgotten by everything ordinary in his own life. Wanted by none, missed by none.

“I wish to go here, to the palace,” the boy breathed, “I wish for her.”

The man’s smile grew wider, almost falling off his face in glee.

“Your wish is mine to make, what pleasure I will have in taking you elsewhere.”

With that final word, the world as the boy knew it split apart, taking with it the tiny man, both disappearing at his feet. Sand falling around him, pushing him forward into his newly wished for life. The weight of the heat pushing down on his small frame. When he finally stood, he was in the palace courtyard, it looked exactly as it had earlier, but better. Golden tiles, flowering jewel-filled fountains, and magnificent, marvelous beauty all around, for as far as the eye-could see.

And there she was—the princess still sat at the fountain edge right where he had left her. The lush cerulean waters pooling around the edges of her fingers. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, she still seemed as beautiful as ever, but up close, it appeared, she was dead. Long dead.

Beneath the rolling tides of her rose dress, her translucent skin wasn’t kissed by the rays of a golden sun, no. Her sallow, ghostly, rotting skin hung in ashen ribbons from her fair bones. She was an illusion. Her jeweled fingers were mostly skeletonized, the waters reflecting her ghost like a mirage. The royal doves perched high above the arched courtyard, bits of flesh and teeth held steadfast in their beaks as they waited for whatever would happen next, inevitably.

The boy stumbled back, tripping over his feet as he fell onto sand-filled cobblestones.

“I made a mistake. I want to go back, to go home.”

The princes smiled sadly, her woeful eyes, forlorn and misty, as though tears once breached their lids.

“They all say that, its rather unfortunate. You won’t be the first, and you will never be the last. But for whatever it is worth, this place is your home now. All you can do is wait…”

Men, Boys, Girls, Women, Young and Old began to crawl wearily from around the edges of the jasmine filled trellis as though they were somehow, someway holding them up, as part of the fantasy that sold him. Their tired eyes watching him nervously, as though he could provide an answer different than the one they already knew. Their lips, heavily parched as though unable to speak, unable to whisper, unable to breathe—as though they too had waited a thousand years for one simple drop of sunlight, of air, of magic.

“Be careful what you wish for, without asking questions,” the princess continued. “Some here have found love, but these walls only go so far. Here, you can bring life, but you cannot take. You will not die, I decide who stays and who goes. No doors, no ladders, no wishes, no amount of begging will get you out. They say this palace appears only to those who believe in the magic,” she whispered softly. “What they do not tell you, is that my magic is the price for entering, your body, your soul is the payment.”

The boy turned to run, but the tree he hit felt an awfully lot like glass. The same thickly bubbled glass from earlier, appeared darker than he realized from the inside looking out. And somewhere far away, though muffled, he could hear the tiny man laughing as he spoke into the jar, this time, dark, viridian green wax poured over the top of the jar and it was sealed.

“Worry you not, my dear boy, you are safe with me until the next time we too shall meet. Who knows, maybe another will wish for the same idles you have, and we can barter a trade once they dig you up. For now, I am off to your side of the forest. Might try my luck there—shouldn't be too long, I think I see another lonely child digging under the roots of my deadened fig tree…perhaps they found one of my other jars? One can only hope."