Becoming Rapunzel

Day of Closed Books

Adults are not the only ones in Alamann who appreciate times past and traditions and celebrations. Oh, nay. Their children come up with their own events, parties, and special rites. Not in the least of these is the Day of Closed Books. While most parents smile on indulgently, privileged children that spent their years in schooling close their textbooks forever and throw a party. Formal textbook learning ends around twelve years old in Alamann, around autumn. This is also often when noble children return to their own families, the return of the First Farewell. Of course, those that wish to be scholars or philosophers or such continue on. But for most children, school stops there. Most girls learn from their mothers how to manage households and financial accounts. They boys go into apprenticeships, if not highborn, or learn how to manage estates, if noble. Many young schoolchildren count the days until the end of their time of book learning.

The autumn of my twelfth year was a little different.

“Rapunzel, what are you doing?” Gothel called to me through the hole in the floor one evening.

I tried not to grumble as I finished walking down the stairs and landed on the ground floor. “I’m coming, Mother,” I told her as I went to the hole in the floor, by the grandfather clock, and began climbing down the ladder. “I was just feeding my cat and cleaning my room.”

“I need you,” she said impatiently. “You have to help heat the water.”

As much as I disliked being subject to Gothel’s beck and call, I did enjoy working with her in the cellar. The cool air was perfect for storing dried herbs, flowers, and other vegetation. This was where we did most of our herbal work. Gothel liked to make complicated concoctions, things with magic in them. I couldn’t work with magic, but I could mix all the other ingredients together. I was her assistant—this was why she had taught me to read in the first place: to help her.

Usually I made innocuous solutions that amounted to beauty drinks—things to make your skin look young, your eyes bright, your hair grow. Not that my hair needed any growing. These past two years it had grown much faster than usual and was thrice as long as I was tall.  Sometimes, when Gothel was gone I practiced my healing skills. I had no real practice of setting bones, diagnosing fevers and such, but I did what I could to memorize symptoms. And I brewed remedies to make sure I knew how to get everything right. I was usually excited when I fell ill with a stomach ache or was scratched by Music—it meant I got to practice on myself. I never stayed ill long, either. Even my scratches seemed to heal faster than Gothel’s. Besides treating scratches, I was quite good at the beauty drinks. And placing pastes on Gothel’s skin.

“Now, where was that?” Gothel murmured to herself, flipping through a page of one of her grimoires. It was a new one, and it looked more precious and rare than the last couple she had brought back. Her eyes narrowed as she began reading a line or two.

I busied myself with bringing empty jars and flasks to the work table. We were currently working on a magical remedy for transformation. It seemed difficult to me. The normal ingredients, like the herbs and liquid metals, I had been stirring together for the past month. Some herbs could only be added into the mixture on certain nights of the moon cycle. I imagined the magical items and the incantations required would be taxing.

I caught sight of a dried bouquet of rapunzel. The roots of the plant were being primed for use later. It reminded me of a conversation a few years ago, when I found an illustration of the plant in one of the books. “Look, Mother!” I exclaimed, pointing. “These roots have my name!”

“Nay, silly,” she had said, not even bothering to glance over at me as she finished boiling a particularly nasty-smelling mixture. “You have its name.”

It was a somewhat sore memory, but it was enlightening. I was named for the plant that my first mother craved so badly. I was saddened, finally understanding better my worth in the world.

Brushing away my thoughts, I continued with my work of putting water on a small fire in the corner oven.

Gothel gave a little gasp.

I looked over, surprised. She was usually calm and collected.

She blinked, and mouthed the words she read to herself. “Nay, it couldn’t be,” she whispered. She flipped a page back, then a page forward with eagerness unlike herself. Suddenly, she slammed the book closed and stared up at me, frowning.

I looked back, wondering if something was wrong.

A smile slowly stretched across her face. Then, before I could blink, she was up the ladder and racing toward the library. I had never seen her running before.

I followed, curious. “What is it, Mother?” I called out.

“Go to bed, Rapunzel,” she said. “I shall be busy with this for a long time.”

In the morning, I woke and trod downstairs for breakfast. Usually Gothel had porridge and fresh bread on the table at this time. But there was no food in the kitchen, or the dining room. Frowning, I walked down another flight to where I heard noises in Gothel’s bedchamber. I walked in, surprised to see Gothel awake, dressed, and packing her basket. She looked as if she had not slept. Half of the books in the library were strewn on her bed and floor.

“What’s happening, Mother?” I asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

She turned to face me, her face flush with excitement. “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Where are we going?” I asked, still not awake enough to be shocked.

 “Not you. You are staying in the tower, child. No more going outside. I am going to seal the door so no one can find you.”

“But where are you going?” I asked.

 “To my other house,” she said, turning away from me to face her chest of drawers. With a snap of her hand and a muttering of words, the chest disappeared. I had seen her do this magic trick before, and was not amazed.

 “Are you taking everything with you?” I asked, hurt that she had another house and had never let me go there.

“All my things, aye. At least the things I want."

“I don't understand," I said, drawing toward her, my white nightgown trailing the wooden floor.

She turned to me, finally looking me in the eyes. “I am leaving. You are old enough to live here on your own. I'll just come back once a sennight, to bring you food and make sure you're all well. I need to focus on my...special project now, and being here inhibits my needs.”

“But I thought I was your assistant. I'm magical, at least a little,” I tried to reason with her. “You don't need me?” I was growing angry and petulant. Even though Gothel had gone on short journeys before, she had never left me truly living alone. My heart beat faster at the fear of abandonment

Gothel stared at me long and hard. I saw little wrinkles around her grey eyes and realized that she was aging. The thought startled me. “Rapunzel,” she said gently, almost sweetly. “I do need you. I need your magic, but not yet. I must finish most of my project first, then I will come back to live in the tower with you. I will need you then, but for now I must keep you safe, here, away from all the evil people and bad magic. Will you do that for me? Stay here, safe, until I come back for you?”

She had never asked me to do anything before, only commanded. I was so surprised that I hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Gothel took my distressed hesitation as doubt or perchance rebellion. “I will leave my looking glass with you, of course,” she added with haste. “And you have your cat to keep you company. I can even leave the library if you like. I know you get in to read.

Dumbly, I nodded. I turned and left the room and went back to bed. I lay in bed for a long time, hugging my pillow, until I fell asleep again.