Beauty (3 page)
A large grey wolf, teeth bared, was scrabbling and scratching at a tall cupboard door in the corner. It suddenly jerked open an inch and a broom handle poked out sharply and jabbed at the beast. ‘Shoo! Shoo!’
The prince, clearly nervous, was waving his sword so high in the small room that the huntsman had to duck to avoid losing an ear.
‘Watch what you’re doing with that thing,’ he muttered, as the wolf turned to face them. It snarled, ready to pounce. Faced with the full sight of its bloody mouth and sharp teeth, the prince paled. ‘Perhaps we should run.’
‘We can’t outrun it,’ the huntsman said, his voice low. The wolf growled again, and the prince trembled slightly, grabbing at the huntsman’s arm and tugging him backwards – and off balance – ruining any chance he had of defending them.
Sensing their fear, the wolf leapt, across the table at them, all raging heat and hunger. The huntsman shoved the clinging prince away, sending him flying into a dresser and breaking more crockery, but as the beast loomed over him his own balance was gone and he cursed under his breath, preparing to feel the sharp thick claws and heavy teeth tearing into his skin.
An arrow whistled past him, straight and true, and struck firmly lodging several inches deep in the wolf’s chest. All momentum suddenly lost, it mewled and dropped, crashing onto the table. It shuddered for a second and then was gone. As the prince got to his feet, the huntsman stared at the dead beast, and then turned to look behind him at the girl holding the bow.
‘You can come out now, Granny,’ she said, softly. ‘It’s dead.’
The girl stared at the wolf with a mixture of loathing and sadness and then turned her eyes to the men; one dressed in the finest clothes with royal insignia on his red cloak and sword, and the other in the rough green fabrics and tan leathers of a working huntsman.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
‘We heard the scream,’ the huntsman said. ‘And came to help. But it seems you had it all under control.’
‘We were hoping you could direct us to the nearest stream,’ the prince said, as if he hadn’t been trembling in fear only seconds before and there was no dead wolf bleeding over the kitchen table. ‘We’ve been travelling for days and this part of the forest is strange to us. We found a pond, but the water was undrinkable. And then we heard the crash and saw the door was open, and came inside.’
‘Oh, they say that pond’s cursed. But that can wait until we’ve had our somewhat late lunch. The wolves have ruined our day.’
A small, stout woman with a cheerful face lent character by a life in the forest, stepped out of the cupboard, put the broom she was holding away, and then smiled at them. ‘You will be staying for some food, I presume? The stew’s nearly done and there’s plenty to go round.’
The girl sighed and put her hands on her hips. ‘We don’t know them, granny. They could be anyone.’
Her grandmother peered over her glasses and looked the men up and down.
‘Everyone’s someone, Petra dear, and that one has the manners of royalty about him, and the other looks like a huntsman to me. You can always trust a huntsman, that’s what my mother told me. Now, come on, having visitors will be nice.’ She smiled warmly. ‘I’m always curious when strangers from distant places turn up at my door, and so should you be.’
‘They can help me clear up first then.’ The girl didn’t look as convinced as her grandmother.
‘We’ll be more than happy to help,’ the prince said, and gave the girl a curt bow. She didn’t look too impressed, but instead grabbed the wolf’s forelegs. ‘Then one of you give me a hand getting this outside.’
A
s Petra and her granny cleaned the cottage, the huntsman and the prince worked hard to make the goat pen secure. When they were done, the huntsman smeared the wolf’s blood on all the posts until they looked almost painted red. The goats shuffled nervously inside.
‘It’ll help keep the wolves away,’ he said, as Petra came and inspected their work. ‘And better the goats are nervous than dead.’ She didn’t disagree, and he saw a little of the tension escaping her shoulders. They might not be friends yet, but perhaps they were no longer irritating strangers.
The cottage was warm and cosy and it was good to spend a night inside. Petra fetched them some wine and there was bread and stew enough for them all to be full and have some left over. The huntsman was pleased when he saw the young prince leave a few gold coins on the dresser when he thought no one was looking. By the time they’d eaten night had fallen and they sat gathered round the comforting warmth and light of the large fire in the grate.
‘So,’ Granny said, her knitting needles clicking together and her chair rocking slightly under her. ‘What brings you to this corner of the kingdoms?’
‘We’re in search of a legend,’ the prince said. ‘My father has sent me to find a lost castle, vanished for nearly a hundred years. Apparently it’s hidden behind a forest wall of some kind—’
‘A wall of forest?’ Petra sat upright in her chair. ‘I know where—’
‘Shhh dear,’ her granny patted her knee. ‘All in good time.’
It was the most animated the girl had been since their arrival, and that intrigued the huntsman. Unlike the city girls she seemed unimpressed by the handsome prince, and he liked her all the more for that.
‘Why does your father send you to find it?’ the old lady asked.
‘He thinks all young men should have an adventure,’ the huntsman cut in, before the prince could muddy the waters of their travel with talk of outposts and amassing land.
‘And that’s a good enough reason,’ Granny said and she smiled, nodded and put down her knitting.
‘Have you heard of this place?’ the prince asked.
‘Oh yes.’ Granny’s eyes twinkled. ‘My mother would speak of it sometimes. Mainly when she was older than I am now, and her mind was not always as it should have been. It sounded a strange place, from her tales. But then most cities are strange and, to be fair, she was always full of fancy stories which no one knew the truth of.’
‘I go to the wall,’ Petra said suddenly. Her face was flushed and alive. ‘Sometimes I hear a sound from the other side. A lonely, echoing cry. It haunts me.’
‘I think it’s more than that, dear,’ her grandmother’s eyes twinkled fondly as she looked at her. ‘You should go with them.’
‘Oh no,’ Petra said, holding her granny’s arm. ‘I’ll stay here with you. I need to keep you safe.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear. It’s not just men who need adventures, you know. Everyone has their own destiny to find. And if there’s something over that wall that’s calling to you, you have to find it. That’s the way of things.’
‘No,’ Petra said, although it was clear in her eyes that she was desperate to go. ‘There are still too many wolves in the forest. If the pen holds and they can’t get to the goats, what if they come for you again? Like today?’
The huntsman looked thoughtfully at the two women and then left them by the fire with the prince and went outside. He dragged the wolf’s body into the forest to work on it and then took the result to the pond to wash it clean, relying on his forest instincts to lead him where he needed to go. By the time he was done he was sweating but pleased.
‘Here,’ he said, and held up his completed work. ‘This will keep them away. They’ll smell one of their own instead of you.’
‘What
is
that?’ Petra asked.
‘A wolf wrap,’ the huntsman said. He helped the old lady put the wolf’s skin on, and then wrapped her own blanket round her shoulders and placed her cap back on top.
‘It’s lovely and cosy,’ she said from somewhere under the wolf’s snout. Her hands, under the wolf’s claws, looked strange as she continued her knitting.
‘You look so peculiar,’ Petra giggled. ‘Like a wolf has dressed up in your clothes!’ They all laughed aloud as the old lady rocked her chair backwards and forwards. ‘Well, I quite like it,’ she said. ‘I can save on wood for the fire if I have this keeping me toasty. And you,’ she turned to her grand-daughter and lifted her head so her own face was visible beneath the wolf’s, ‘Can now go on your adventure.’
And so it was decided. They would leave their horses in Granny’s care and Petra would join them.
The next morning they ate a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon and forest mushrooms, and Petra’s granny packed some bread and cheese for them which she loaded up in the huntsman’s knapsack, before fixing Petra’s red cloak over her shoulders. She smiled and her eyes twinkled but the girl looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
‘I love you, Granny,’ she said.
‘I love you too, Petra.’ She squeezed the girl tight. ‘But your life is out there, not here with me. And I shall be just fine.’
She waved them off from the doorway, and then the girl led them towards the forest wall and whatever lay beyond it.
O
nce upon a time a young king was out hunting in the forest that lay at the edge of his city. He had not long come to the throne, but he was a good man and was mourning the loss of his father rather than relishing his new power and preferred to hunt alone as it gave him some private time away from the rigours of court life and kingship.
It was a warm day and, with his enthusiasm to chase and kill a living creature dampened by his recent loss, he dismounted and walked his horse to a large pond of sparkling blue water that was so cold and deep that it must have been home to a natural spring beneath its bed.
The young king sat by the pool as his mount drank and stared into the surface of the water, lost in his own thoughts. Now it is said that deep in the heart of the pond that rarest of creatures, a water witch, sensed the young king’s distress and looked up. She saw his handsome face, so weighed down with grief and responsibility, and it touched something inside her. She immediately came to the surface, unable to stop herself.
The young king and the young water witch fell almost instantly in love and in order to be wed she sacrificed her watery home and went back to the city to become his queen.
At first the king’s advisors and, indeed, many of the ordinary people, had reservations about their match, but the new queen kept her magic locked away inside her and she was always so kind and ethereal that soon, despite her icy beauty and eyes that changed colour as water does when the sun hits it, they grew to love her almost as much as the king himself did and the kingdom was content.
For the queen’s part, sometimes the wild call of the water and the pull of her old solitary life tugged at her, but she hid that longing away with her magic because in the main she was happy and she loved her king so very, very much. Occasionally, when the yearning became too great, she would return and secretly allow her magic a release, diving deep into the water and feeling the cool aching caress on her skin. But the visits were not often, and she never looked back when she walked away from the pool. Her husband was waiting for her, after all.
Only one thing blighted their bliss. The lack of a son or daughter to make their union complete and secure the future of their kingdom. Eventually, as months passed and no sign of a child was to be had, the king, sensing his beautiful wife’s growing sadness, asked the advice of a witch who lived in a tower far, far away. He begged her to help them and, after a few minutes reflection, she smiled and said she would. She told the king that he would be blessed with a daughter. She would be graceful, she would be intelligent and she would be kind. The king smiled and laughed and offered the witch gold and jewels in reward, but she shook her head and raised her hand and said she hadn’t finished. There was something more. He should know that the princess would be happy, but one day she would prick herself on a spindle and would sleep for a hundred years. The king was aghast at her words and demanded that it not be so, but the witch disappeared in a cloud of sparkling dust and his words were spoken to an empty room.
Within a year, they learned that the queen was with child. There was much pageantry and the kingdom celebrated. The queen went to the pond to tell the spirits of all the water witches who had lived there before her, whose magic ran in every drop of its clear water, of her great joy, and to ask their advice on how to manage her child, who would no doubt find it hard to be of two such different peoples. The only answer she received was the ripple of the surface and silence from the spirits. She took that to mean she should not be concerned. She chose to read it that way. She would not allow any concern to spoil her happiness.
The sun shone on the kingdom and, as she bloomed, everything was perfect. The king, remembering the witch’s words, sent his men throughout the kingdom and all the spindles in the land were destroyed. He would keep his child safe. Whatever it took.
Finally, the queen’s time arrived. The birth was difficult, and a storm raged over the kingdom, heavy rain flooding the streets. For nearly two days and nights she struggled and sweated and bled and finally, in the wreck of her bed, the tiny healthy baby girl was delivered. The best efforts of all the king’s physicians, however, could not save the beautiful queen. She died in her devastated husband’s arms. The magical pond in the forest turned bitter overnight. In tucked-away corners, the king’s advisors muttered that they could have predicted this. Happy as they had been, such a union was never meant to be.