Goldest and the Kingdom of Thorns by Joanne Durda

inside his hood. Onion’s telepathic mind read the fear in the shaking Imbecile. He knew snowdrops of thought would remove his fear of the creatures, so great was it.
What terrifying beings we have grown and created
! a sober Onion thought to himself.
    Octagon looked out at the scary, perplexed creatures and whispered quietly to himself, “This scene is alarming. What manner of man have we created here?”
    Meek was aghast at what he saw, and he too had to pull himself together. Even Alme, who feared nothing, was frightened at what he saw. He wondered if other Monks were as overly anxious as he was.
    Pentangle, Ebrix, Xnug, Oxon, Sooth, Uhl, Emm and Radish, with other lesser Monks, helped direct the thorns into the steaming baths. They walked roughly and haphazardly in a single file line towards these boiling pots filled with their mystical bath of livingness. The living waters contained herbs of white oak bark, white pine bark, witchgrass, fireweed, witch hazel and oils of frankincense and myrrh, with the oil of carnations added as a last ingredient for healing. Each thorn figure eagerly stepped inside and slid underwater, rose up slowly, then stepped out more vigorously than they had stepped in – their bark taking on a more deeper, darker color from the oils used. The steam caressed their bark and felt good to them. The mystical living waters had granted them more flexibility. They now walked more upright with a little bit more strength and firmness after their hot, erotic bath. The impenetrable dirt mixture from around their feet and ankles was forever washed away. The Thorn Armygathered information as they were granted strong form and life. They were grown and cultivated by the Monks only to listen and obey; no tongue was given to them for speech. The essence of their very bark conformed to the highest command of obedience.
    Theo, with some of the other Monks, watched with interest and pride at their Thorn Army that they had planted and grown themselves.
    “Who would have ever believed we could have grown and cultivated an army such as ours?” Meek asked with amazement.
    Theo chuckled. “The sacred mushrooms performed well with our own daring, cryptic ingredients.”
    “The poppies! Yes, I do believe the poppies mixed with the sacred mushrooms helped immensely with our endeavor,” Meek remarked anxiously.
    “It is not over yet, Brothers. Savagio is our next ingredient,” Alme reminded his Brothers.
    Octagon frowned at Alme’s spoken words. A strange feeling crept over Octagon as if he felt as though he was being watched. He looked at the tower window where Savagio’s quarters were. As far away as he was, he felt Savagio’s eyes upon him.
    A troubled Savagio stood gazing out from his open tower window. He had prepared himself for first light, when the moon would still be up, watching as the sun peeped slowly. He stood leaning up against the sill, his long white lounging robe falling to the floor. His massive, handsome chest lay wide open as he felt the wind touch his skin with light stroking, as if it did not want to offend this handsome warrior. He gazed out the tower window at the fields of thorns. He sawsteam rising due to all the boiling, simmering pots. The thunder was terrifying, and the harsh platinum lightning was blinding to one’s eyes. The rain did not weep, but kept its tears to itself. He was most amazed at how gentle and kind the wind was to his skin, even though the night was cruel with its thunder and lightning. He smiled as he thought how it seemed the wind was trying to make love to him, or perhaps lure him into his bed to sleep. Maybe it was the hot soup and golden bread the Monks had fed him for dinner. The creamy soup was heavy with mushrooms and beef stock, and some strange herbs – the herbs being unknown to him. His head reeled for a while, as if he needed to lie down. But he was not ready for rest, yet. Cones of passionflower incense, for sleep and soothing troubles, burned