The Woodcutter (20 page)

She pulled back the dressing of his wound to see how it was healing. “I am sorry to have assumed. I had never seen anything like this before,” she said as she pointed at his injury.

It had hardened and around the cut, instead of a shiny pink scar, a knot of bark had grown and puckered.

“Is this normal for one who is one with the forest?”

He took her hand away and covered himself back up, “Indeed it is. You have helped more than you will ever know. I am in your debt.”

She turned back to the fire. Balanced upon the coals was a metal pot, which spewed forth steam and lovely smells. She slid her feet out of her clog-like shoes as she stirred the pot. She looked over her shoulder at the Woodcutter’s inquiring gaze, “My shoes heat when I stand too close to the fire.”

“Why is it that you wear them?” he asked.

She paused before speaking, her gentle tone never changing, but her words seemed to come from far away, “I was married years ago to a great white bear and lived with him in a castle by the sea. He was, in fact, a man, but he was cursed by a witch he once offended. Each night, he would transform from a beast into my husband, but in the morning, he would return to beast again. After almost a year as his wife, I told my mother about his transformation and how it pained me to be parted from him during the hours of the light. She told me I must tie a golden thread to his ankle so that he might stay a man forever.”

She heaved a heavy sigh.

“I did this, but when he woke that day, he cried out that if I had only been patient for three days more, the enchantment would have been broken and he would have been free forever. With these words, a great wind broke through the windows and stole my husband away.”

She ladled the food onto two plates and brought one to the Woodcutter, “I went to an old seer to learn what had happened to my love, and she told me that the Sun would know where the wind took my husband. She predicted I would wear through three sets of iron shoes and an iron walking stick before I saw his face again. So I commissioned a blacksmith for such shoes and a stick and proceeded to walk to the Sun. But the Sun did not know. He thought that the Moon, who traveled so much closer to the earth, would have heard where to find my husband, so I walked to the Moon, but she did not know, either.”

Iron Shoes sat down beside the Woodcutter, “The Moon thought that the West Wind, who has traveled far across the ocean, would surely know of my husband, so I walked to meet the West Wind. But the West Wind had never heard of my husband nor his new home. The West Wind kindly offered to carry me upon its back to meet the East Wind, since the East Wind could go places where it could not. But alas, the East Wind knew nothing of my husband. The East Wind thought perhaps the South Wind could help. The South Wind said it had heard from the North Wind of a strange journey involving a man who was a bear. In the coldest reaches of the earth, I met the North Wind who said he had once been asked to carry a man to a land east of the sun and west of the moon. So the North Wind gathered me up and brought me to this forest, which is where you find me now, having worn through two pairs of iron shoes and with the last pair upon my feet.”

There was a look on Iron Shoe’s face, a look of such determination and love…

They had glared at each other in the great room of their cottage the night she learned who he was, the night she learned of his duties to the Kingdoms and that they could never have a child. She had shouted at him as he told her he would understand if she no longer wished to be his wife. She clung to him, her face pressing his tear-soaked shirt against his heart, trying to get him to understand that she could never leave his side.

She picked them up and wiggled a finger through their sole, “I have worn through the third. So, I must continue. I know my husband lives here somewhere. I must continue until I find the man I love.”

His wife’s sleeping face in the morning light. Even resting, she wore a smile…

He missed her so much it ached, and he saw the same ache in the lines that etched Iron Shoes’ face.

“I shall help you through the Woods,” the Woodcutter promised.

She shook her head, “Woodcutter, you should not have to involve yourself with my sorrow.”

He stopped her, “I shall guide you until you reach the other side.”

She rested her hand lightly upon his forearm, “Thank you.”

Chapter 60

They had walked a week and a day and yet another week, again.

Her worn iron shoes allowed the branches and sticks to poke and cut her feet. Even her hardened calluses bled and cracked.

The Woodcutter helped her to bind them in the tattered rags of her shawl, but never a word of complaint left her lips, only hope and excitement that she might be drawing closer to her husband.

Three pairs of iron shoes worn through their iron soles.

On the first day of the third week, her walking staff broke and they found themselves standing before a humble farm.

Chapter 61

The Woodcutter rapped upon the wooden door. The planks were smooth and worn from the years of protecting the home from the rain and wind.

Inside, the Woodcutter could hear the shuffle of tired feet and the door opened to reveal a weary old woman with a toothless grin.

“Good evening, grandmother. We seek shelter for the night,” said the Woodcutter.

The old woman looked at them through one eye and then motioned them inside. Her joints and bones cracked as she walked. The one-room home was small and humble. Three animals lay by the hearth for warmth – a dog, a hen, and a brindled cow.

The Woodcutter caught the woman’s elbow as she wobbled. She patted his hand kindly, “I am afraid that I am not able to offer much hospitality.”

The Woodcutter set her by the fire and placed a blanket upon her lap, “Then rest, grandmother. We do not wish to trouble you.”

The cow lowed his opinion.

The old woman nodded in agreement and spoke to the Woodcutter, “Cook us our supper and you may stay until morning.”

The Woodcutter reached down and patted the grizzled old dog. The dog licked the Woodcutter’s hand and then settled his head back down between his paws.

Iron Shoes began moving around the kitchen, preparing a dinner from the items in the cupboards. The three animals stared at Iron Shoes pitifully.

The Woodcutter smiled at the animals, “Your empty bellies are not forgotten, my friends.”

The Woodcutter went outside and found some hay and grain. He brought in the food and placed them before the cow and the chicken.

Iron Shoes put the food on the table and then ladled out a bowl of stew, setting it before the dog.

The dog lowered his head, and as his lips touched the food, a cracking sound echoed across the room.

The beams ripped themselves from the roof.

The walls groaned and grew, grew from humble plaster to marble columns and mirrors.

The Woodcutter leapt from the wooden chair, transformed beneath him to a delicate piece upholstered in white tapestry. He grabbed the confused Iron Shoes and pulled her towards the door.

“What is happening?” she cried.

“We must leave now!” shouted the Woodcutter. “The Queen. It must be the Vanishing House…”

The room stopped rumbling, the transformation complete.

The floor was inlaid wood of complex scrolls and herringbone. The ceilings were painted with visions of the Wood at sunrise. Gold cabinets and library shelves covered the walls. Soft, pale couches rested their slender carved legs upon lightly colored rugs.

The Woodcutter unstrapped his father’s ax and stretched out his senses, prepared for danger.

A woman appeared in the doorway, a Lady with long golden hair that hung below her waist, a Lady dressed in light blue gossamer who held out her hands to calm the Woodcutter and Iron Shoes.

The Lady in Blue stood, flanked by three servants. They bowed humbly before the Woodcutter and Iron Shoes.

One servant had liquid brown eyes. The other servant was round with mousy red hair that sat like feathers upon her head. The third servant had grizzled black hair and jowls that hung like a dog’s.

The Woodcutter lowered his ax and smiled.

“Fear not, my gentle friends. I am the old woman you so kindly waited upon,” said the Lady in Blue. Her voice was musical and danced like water upon the stones of a brook.

The Woodcutter walked to the Lady’s side and embraced her warmly. “Queen of the Seventh Kingdom? Why did you hide yourself from me?” he asked.

The Lady in Blue held his hands in hers and gazed at him fondly, “Please sit and accept my true hospitality.”

She perched upon one of the chairs and motioned for the Woodcutter and Iron Shoes to follow suit.

The servant with the liquid eyes walked over to a side table and poured drinks for the party. She offered the tray and asked in a low voice, “Iron Shoes?”

Iron Shoes took the glass and lifted it to her lips in bewilderment.

The Lady in Blue smiled at her servant and took a glass for herself as she explained, “A year ago, the Scarlet Queen from the Sixth Kingdom and her Gentleman consort came to me with a vision of independence for the Twelve Kingdoms, to unite seven Kingdoms and break the treaty with the fae. But, I knew that they truly wished to wield the power found in your Woods. My blue blood is not so removed that I am blind to the greed of man.

“I wove a spell to hide,” she continued. “I knew my Kingdom would be safe as long as they could not find me, but I was worried the Queen would come in disguise and trick me with her words. My most trusted servants and I assumed the shapes you saw. Only when someone pure of heart came and cared for us, someone who waited not just upon an old woman, but also upon her strange companions with no hope of gain, only then would we return to our true selves.”

The Woodcutter stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Why did you not contact me about this plot?” he asked.

“Because I could not.” She stood and walked to the window. She opened the panes and pointed at the trees, “Their voices are quieting. The Queen and her Gentleman have captured too many of the pixies. The Queen and the Gentleman slowly bled the magic from my Kingdom until they were able to intercept all the messages I sent. I was cut off from all communication.”

The Woodcutter reached out to the Woods and the voices of the trees were muffled and weak. His mind began trying to put the pieces together.

The pixies. There were too many pixies captured.

The pixies were a conduit. They bathed the land in magic, baptized it in dust wherever they flew. The pixies watched and gossiped about the lives of humans endlessly with the trees. The Woodcutter was able to reach into the flow and know what was going on, but if there was no magic, if the stream slowed to a trickle, there would be no way of knowing if things were right or wrong.

The clouds…

The magic being taken from the Twelve Kingdoms…

The Woodcutter pointed to the sky, “That is why they took the magic. I thought it was the dust trade. Then, perhaps, to annex new kingdoms from the Kingdom of the Ordinary. But it was to store the magic so that they could control the Kingdoms here…”

“Annex new kingdoms?” the Lady in Blue asked in confusion. “There is not enough dust in the world…”

The Woodcutter shook his head, “I have seen it. There are solid clouds above us, fields of dust in the Cloud Kingdom. There was an accident with a beanstalk that caused the dust to snow upon a farm. It was enough to form a new Kingdom, a Thirteenth Kingdom.”

The fear on Jack’s mother’s face as the Beast overtook her
.

“A Thirteenth Kingdom…” the Lady in Blue whispered.

The Woodcutter stood and began pacing the room. He brought his pipe out of his pack and lit it furiously, putting the pieces together, “But that was not their intention. I have been so foolish…”

His words came faster, “Whenever the clouds became too heavy and threatened to burst, the Queen and the Gentleman would let the dust fall upon the Kingdom of the Ordinary where the iron could dispel it. That or the Queen and the Gentleman sold it to the dust trade...”

The rings never lied.

And they told him what he spoke was true.

The Woodcutter leaned out of the window and stared at the sky.

He had to get the magic down. Without the pixies’ magic, he was blind, and blindness was what the Queen and the Gentleman of the Vanishing House wanted.

The Woodcutter understood.

“They tried to capture me…” he said.

The Lady in Blue placed her hand upon his elbow in alarm, “If they had been successful, they would have had power over all Twelve Kingdoms.”

“Thirteen Kingdoms,” he absently corrected, eyes still upon the starless heavens. “But they were not successful. They have shown their hand.”

The Lady in Blue, “What do you mean?”

“When they tried to capture me, I learned that they had imprisoned six of the blue-blooded Princes who had not found true love.”