The Nisse, the Cat, and the Apple Tree Part 8

The hope of a fallen star.

Christian kept the golden box close to him, keeping his eyes on the long tree staring down at him, not him, but the box. All the trees wanted the box feeling the power of the bear pouring out from it. None of them moved towards the box, but it did nothing for Christian. Persephone strolled beside him, keeping close to him and watching the sky, not being able to see any of the owls above them. They were there; they could feel the eyes on them.

                “How much farther?” Persephone asked.

                “Not too much,” Christian said.

                “I hope not,” Persephone said, “we are running out of time.”

                “We will make it,” Christian growled, and a few more yards, they came upon something which the cat couldn’t believe was hidden in the little woods at the bottom of the hill. She stopped beside him, almost gasping at the sight before them.

                “Welcome to the Kingdom,” Christian said as they both looked up at the tree made of gold with bright orange lights running through it, the way a river runs between stones. He glances over at the cat, almost about to ask her if this was worth it. “I hope we make it.”

                “Me too, friend,” Persephone said as both strolled forward, “me too.” She glanced over at him. “How could they not find this place?”

                “It can only be found if you had been here before,” Christian said as a few wolves met them at the roots of the tree. The wolves said nothing, but they licked their lips and glanced at them. The gates to the tree open, and they walked into the hall of golden light where King Artio sat staring at them. His eyes went right for the box in Christian’s hands.

                “You did it,” He said, smiling. “How?”

                “Give us your word we will not be harm,” Persephone said.

                “What have you done?”

                “What we must,” Christian said. “Give us your word, here in your hall of light where the souls of your fathers lie. Say you will not harm us.”

                The King snarled, knowing the only way the box could be given to him was freely. If he killed Christian and then took the box, it would cast down on him a might cruse forcing his bloodline to be tainted with rot. He stared hard and long at the box, knowing all who have fallen in this great war was because of the box. The one thing within it was the key to all the woods as if it the Claw of Odin was breathed itself.

                “King Artio?” Christian asked.

                “By the graves of my fathers, where I pray their souls do not rest, you have my word,” King Artio said as the horns of war blew.

                “Queen Diana followed us here,” Persephone said.

                “You betray me,” The King bellowed.

                “No,” Christian said, rushing toward him, laying the box at his feet. “You asked me to get you the claw, here it is, but you said nothing as in how.”

                The King growled, but the truth of Christian words rang in the hall. The Nisse was right no matter how much the King wished death upon him.

                “The way out, King Artio,” Persephone said as they all heard the battle raging outside. The golden tree mice fought against the dead ghost of the Queen’s army while the wolves and the owls battle among each other.

Persephone narrowed her green eyes at the mouse. Something told him not to cross a black cat in a deal, and the King Artio jerked the box to him, holding it tight in his arms. He pointed with his tail to a side door, ordering them to go that way.

Both Persephone and the Christian raced for the door as the King called out to him. Christian looked back over his shoulder. “Is a human child truly worth my wrath?” The King asked him with the shaking from the war.

“A thousand folded,” Christian said, heading into the door, followed by Persephone on his heels. The door opens into a hallway leading them out through a tunnel to another old door. Christian pushed it, opening the bright sunlight of a new day. He gasped at the brightness, unsure how long they had been traveling in the magic tunnel. Both of them stepped out of the tree, looking at the hill. They stood on the backside of the hill seeing the Apple Tree and the fallen star there.

Christian checked the sun, hoping it has risen from in the morning, but the truth told him dusk was falling onto the world fall. A new night would soon take hold and another day lost, but they were close to the tree.

“Can you carry me?” Christian asked the cat.

She smirked, “I can. Are you worry about losing too much time?”

“I am,” He said. “I was told the star would only last three days here on earth.”

“By whom?” Persephone asked, lowing herself to allow Christian to climb on.

“By a close friend of the angels,” Christian said as they dashed for the top of the hill.

“I’m sure we haven’t been traveling for more than one day,” Persephone said.

“I’m not sure of anything at the moment.”

“Is there anything we should be worried about here?” Persephone asked. “The countryside seems to be filled with things.”

“I believe we should be fine,” Christian said. “Nothing lives on top of the hill.”

“Thank the Lord for little blessing,” Persephone said, moving even faster toward the Apple Tree. Hours later, they reached the top of the hill where a tiny star laid in the youth of the night blinking up at Christian. He dismounted from the cat taking out a bottle for the star. He bent down softly, taking great care not to hurt the light, and pushed it into the bottle. He closed the top, smiling at the light, but the hissing of Persephone made the joy in his heart break.

He spun around to see the Troll standing there with his army of goblins.

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.