PRINCESS BEAST (10 page)

 

Beauty awakens, hanging upside down from a branch, trussed up like a game fowl. Immediately she wants to fight, gnaw, scratch her way free, but her animal instinct tells her to stay quiet and size up the enemy. Holger the Dane sits on a boulder holding Beauty’s mirror. However, he does not speak. Beauty notices the huge size of his hands and believes he could crush the mirror between them. She has never encountered such strength in battle, except of course for her beloved Beast. Beauty makes a mental inventory: he outweighs me by stones, and is a good foot taller. He is armed with sword and shield. His muscles are lean and long, he can outrun me easily, so I’d need to incapacitate him before running free. And how can I incapacitate such a foe?

Holger lifts his steely blue eyes to meet Beauty’s gaze, and at that moment, her princess brain kicks in and she begins to weep.

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter Nine

Pride and Hunger

 

The past week has been a trying time for Rune. After her experience in Middelfart, she decided to keep off the road, travel through the trees and brush. She has encountered a dozen fairies, three hills of elves and a pack of pixies, each commenting on her ugliness and her lack of shoes. These beings were tiny and easier to ignore than village people. As she has traveled, she has become even more determined to reach Copenhagen and transform. She has imagined in dream after rosy dream her reunion with Hans and her adolescent heart has embroidered the reunion to Olympian proportion.

This morning, she wakes from a grand dream, stretches and brushes leaves and twigs from her violet gown. Through the trees, she sees fields of grain: rye, barley, oats, and nearest is buckwheat. She walks out of the wood to the edge of the buckwheat field. Beside the field grows an ancient willow tree, and Rune is partial to willows. She will fill her skirt with grain and sit beneath the tree to enjoy her breakfast. She is also partial to oats over barely and buckwheat, and as she steps into the buckwheat field to walk through to the oats, the buckwheat field speaks. “Pick us. We stand stiff and proud. We are as fruitful as any of the others and we are more beautiful besides. Our flowers are as lovely as the apple tree’s. It is a delight to look at us. You old willow tree, do you know of anything more beautiful than we are?”

The willow shakes its head vigorously and the buckwheat stands straighter. “You stupid tree! You are so old that you have grass growing in your crotch. Young beast who stands straight and proud, do you know of anything more beautiful than we are?”

Hunger overtakes curiosity; Rune waves in dismissal and heads for the oats. “What does she know, as ugly as she is,” the buckwheat shouts.

A crack of thunder rends the air and wind rips across the field. The wild flowers, oats, and barley, fold their leaves and bend their heads, but the buckwheat stand straight.

“Bend you heads as we do,” call the flowers.

“We don’t need to,” say the buckwheat.

“Bend, bend,” scream the other grains. “In a minute the storm’s angel, with its great wings that stretch from the clouds down to the earth, will be here. He will cut you in two if you do not ask him to be merciful.”

Rune jumps away from the screaming oats and returns to the buckwheat, which replies in a steady voice, “We will not bow and bend.”

“I’m with you,” says Rune, swiping up a handful of buckwheat and begins to chew, content as a Holstein heifer.

The old willow pipes up, “Bend your heads buckwheat and beast, and do not look at the bolts of lightening that appear when the clouds burst. Even man does not dare do that, for through the lightening you can see right into God’s heaven and that sight makes men blind. Think what would happen to us if we, who are so much less than man, we who are merely humble plants, should dare to do such a thing.”

“Much less?” The buckwheat and Rune say in tandem. “I am most probably an enchanted princess,” Rune says, a stalk of buckwheat poking through her fangs.

“She must be, because she is so very ugly. You should bend to her you rotten old tree. We are going to look right into God’s heaven!” And they did, while lightning streaked through the sky. Rune recalls the lesson her mother had taught her regarding lightning. The riskiest place to be caught in a storm is open terrain and the second riskiest, under a single tree as they are conductors. She swipes a second handful of buckwheat and trots into the forest to wait out the storm. As she watches the blue white bolts crackle through the dark grey sky, she wonders if the Bog King’s daughter is among those bolts. And as adolescent girls will do, she burst into tears at the thought of Helga, a beautiful princess transformed to a bolt of light without a home. It is inconceivable to her that she could meet the same fate.

The storm stops as suddenly as it began, and Rune leaves the forest. The sun is shining and the oats, barley and flowers raise their heads, but the buckwheat has been singed black and lies flat. She approaches the willow to find it weeping tears. “Why are you crying?” she asks.

“I am weeping for the buckwheat whose pride and presumption brought them this punishment. Let this be a lesson to you—punishment always follows presumption,” the willow answers. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m crying for Princess Helga, who swallowed her pride for the love of God and the love of a godly man and she was turned into a stupid bolt of light!” Rune blubbers.

“Didn’t she die and go straight to heaven?” the willow asks.

“No she did not!” Rune shouts. “She is still trying to earn her way in and it’s been over a century. Creechy, imagine spending a century as a bolt of light. How are you supposed to do good deeds when people run from you, when you can flatten and fry a field? It isn’t fair,” she howls.

The willow wraps its’ long soft limbs around Rune. “She must have been very evil when she was alive, very proud and presumptuous.”

Rune is about to shout,
She was not
, but realizes Helga was quite evil, so she simply rips away from the trees’ embrace, taking three limbs with her as she stalks away, head held high.

“You’ll end up in the gutter,” the tree calls after her. Rune doesn’t bother responding for her attention is captured by a huge pair of white wings spread like an eagle over a rabbit-kill in the oat field. This time her curiosity gets the better of her and she approaches the winged creature. She has not quite reached the field when the wings fold and a figure rises, holding a young boy in his arms. The boy is as limp as a dead rabbit.

“Hey--what are you doing with that boy?” Rune hollers, the fur on her back in bristles.

“I am an angel come down from heaven to take this dead child to visit all the places he has loved. We will pick armfuls of flowers and bring them to God. In heaven, the flowers will bloom even more beautifully than they have on earth. God presses all the flowers to his heart, but one that is dearest to him he gives a kiss and then that flower will sing with the hosanna.”

Rune has not seen an angel, except in pictures in her mother’s books. This one is very beautiful by earthly standards, thinks Rune, but he doesn’t have a golden aura. The boy’s hand twitches and Rune points to his hand. “I don’t think he’s dead,” she says.

“Yes he is,” the angel quickly replies.

“I’m not dead,” the boy whimpers.

The angel turns his back to Rune. “Which of these plants shall we chose, young dead lad? Here is a tall rosebush whose stem some evil hand as broken,” the angel shouts then whispers, “Yes you are.”

“He’s not!” shouts Rune.

“Are you fourteen yet? Have you been confirmed?” the angel asks Rune. “You aren’t wearing a cross and you don’t look well; have you ill a long, long time?”

“I’m feeling better,” the boy whimpers and the angel kisses the boy, a long, lingering, smothering kiss. The boy returns to dead rabbit limpness, but Rune can hear him say, “Oh, the poor bush! Take it along that it may flower again up with God.”

The Andersen Land philosopher alights on the rose bush.  “Because of its tremendous solemnity death is the light in which great passions, both good and bad, become transparent, no longer limited by outward appearances,” the parrot squawks.  Elora jumps from behind the willow tree in her toothless, red babushka-headed, bent-with-arthritis, bow-legged, sack-of-sticks-on-back, crone disguise. The parrot takes wing, but the angel stands firm. She waves a stick in the air and snarls, “Bricklebrit, beat it you blasted vulture.”

The angel spreads his wings and flies upward.  Rune watches him disappear into the clouds, cradling the boy with a beatific smile. She turns to face the crone, who vanishes in a puff of clove-scented smoke, leaving a sign where she stood that reads: TWENTY MILES TO ODENSE AND SVEN THE SHOEMAKER—HIT THE ROAD KID AND STAY ON IT.

 

* * *

 

Back at the Deco Palace Elora is greeted by Croesus.  He sits beside the crystal ball, three gold coins at his feet. He whines and paws the ball vigorously.

“Listen, Buster, that was an emergency, but Beauty does not need my help,” Elora says. “Once again Beauty needs to make her own decision, her fate and Rune’s are tied together in a Gordian knot. Can she untangle the knot by her own devices? Alexander the Great isn’t handy with his sword, but Holger has Curtana.”

 

* * *

 

Beauty sits beside a campfire, staring into the flames Holger has kept burning for the past week. Her arms are tied behind her back and her feet are bound together. She cannot remember ever feeling so weary, though she has hardly moved a muscle these past seven days. Holger had cut her down from the branch when she began to cry and she said, “Sir, I am Beauty, an enchanted princess from Grimm Land. I have come to Andersen Land to save my daughter, Rune. Please, won’t you help me?”

He carried her to his fire, sat her upon the ground, thumped his fist on his chest and said, “I am Holger the Dane, son of King Gudfred, who was son of King Harald Bluetooth, who was son of Gorm the Old, first king of Denmark. I should be in Valhalla with the other Viking warriors who died in battle, but I live in stone in Kronborg Castle to awaken only when this land is in danger. You woke me.”

He squatted beside Beauty, his blue eyes glacial as he spoke. “I have fought in many battles. Not since I slew the Saracen giant, Brehus, have I had such a worthy opponent. Because you have earned my respect, I may spare you, if you tell me the good and true story of your life.”

“I don’t have time for that,” Beauty exploded.” “My daughter . . .”
Seeing that Holger whipped out his sword, Beauty softened her tone and pleaded for the use of her mirror.

“Witchcraft,” was Holger’s reply. “Every good and true story has a good and true beginning. Begin with the day of your birth.”

On the first day, Beauty told Holger about her mother dying upon Beauty’s birth, about her widowed father and her two sisters, Violet and Daisy, how cruel they were to her as children and how alone she felt. Holger killed a wild boar and roasted it over the fire.

On the second day, she told him about her father losing his fortune, stopping at the Beasts’ castle and coming home with a rose for beauty and the news that she must go to live with the Beast or else they would all die.

On the third day she told him of going to live with the Beast and how he, with kindness and love, won her devotion. And when she at last pronounced her love, she broke a spell and the Beast became Prince Runyon. Holger killed eight rabbits, roasted them over the fire and gave the skins to Beauty for a cushion.

On the fourth day Beauty told Holger about life at Palace Fleur de Coeur. She told him how unhappy the prince made her feel, and how she wished with all her heart to reverse the spell and have her beloved Beast back. She tells him of embarking on a quest to find Elora the Enchantress and convince her to reverse the spell.

On the fifth day, she revealed all she learned from Snow White and the seven dwarves, and from Rapunzel and her two children. Holger killed eight pheasants and roasted them over the fire. Beauty asked him to please pick her some apples.

On the sixth day, she revealed all she learned from Sleeping Beauty and from Cinderella. She talked late into the evening, her voice a hoarse whisper from strain. Beauty told Holger about ending her quest at Glass Mountain and going into labor. She explained that in her last moments of labor, she made her decision regarding the spell: that the spell should be cast upon her, that being a beauty was beastly, regardless of whether Runyon or the Beast had fathered her child.

“And your babe?” Holger asked.

“Just like me; we are the only two of our kind.”

Today, Beauty has told Holger about moving to Cozy Cave and how wonderful their lives had been. “When Rune reached fourteen years of age, she fell in love with Hans the Hedgehog, who in reality was an enchanted prince. After a princess broke his spell, Rune . . .” Beauty bites her lip to hold back her tears.  She misses her daughter so much it feels as if her heart has been ripped from her chest. “She found my magic mirror and ran away from home. The next morning, I found the mirror at Lake Leda, and learned that not only had Rune come here on the back of a swan, but she had seen her true face within the mirror, the face of a fairy tale beauty. She believes she will be able to transform into a princess here in Andersen Land. She wants to transform, return home, and win the heart of Hans.”

“And you will stop her,” Holger says.

“I wish to protect her from harm; I want to hold her close and tell her that I love her, that whatever she decides I will always stand by her,” Beauty breaks down now, weeping as she has never wept before. And then, she feels her hands and feet free as Holger cuts the ropes that bind her. He places the mirror on her lap and says, “I could not save my son from death, but I revenged his murder. We will go now; I will help you find your daughter.”

Beauty feels blood rush to her hands and feet and to her heart and head. She takes the mirror and whispers:

"Magic mirror, please right away

Show me where my daughter is today."

Beauty releases a yelp of joy at the sight of Rune dressed in a violet gown, enter a city with her head held high.