The Woodcutter (28 page)

The Princess laughed again, and, again, another tree gave birth to life.

“Tis not a dream, dear Woodcutter.”

Immediately, he knelt down as Titania and Oberon stepped in behind the young Princess.

Oberon lifted the Woodcutter to his feet, “Do not kneel before us.”

Titania smiled, “Our entire world exists only because of you.”

“Did the Wild Hunt catch its quarry?” the Woodcutter whispered, his voice strange and glorious in his throat.

Oberon nodded, “Indeed. The Queen and her Gentleman shall not trouble this Wood again.”

And the Woodcutter did not need to ask any more.

A cheer rose forth from the faerie host and a table erupted from the earth, formed of tree roots and rocks. One hundred nymphs danced into the clearing, carrying foods recognizable and not, foods of purple and gold and green.

Titania and Oberon guided the Woodcutter to his seat upon a throne that had naturally grown into the shape of a chair and they placed upon his forehead a circle of uncut wood.

The Grandmother and Riding Hood stood at his side, crowns of red upon their heads.

The young blonde girl placed her chubby hand within the Woodcutter’s rough palm.

Stepping into the clearing came Rapunzel and Prince Martin. Maid Maleen and the Duke. Iron Shoes and her Prince. The Lady in resplendent Blue, gripping the hand of a young boy, a young boy with a mop of curly brown hair whom had been woken from his sleep.

His little legs ran, eating up the distance between him and the Woodcutter. The Woodcutter opened up his arms and Jack clung to the Woodcutter, wrapping himself tightly around the Woodcutter’s neck. He whispered in the Woodcutter’s ear, “How was true love supposed to find me in a briar patch?”

Music began to play from enchanted instruments crafted by faerie hands. Such was the music that blood that was not blue could have not endured it. The night was a swirl of dancing and voices. There was laughter, but most of all love, love as all those that inhabited the Wood came to the Woodcutter’s side. Some spoke gentle words, some remained silent.

But he understood.

Understood that the pain he enduring thinking he was leaving them was nothing compared to the pain they endured knowing he was gone.

So together, they rejoiced in life.

At midnight, he looked up into the sky and stared at the full moon as it shone upon the celebration.

Something shifted.

The celebration became quiet.

He looked and the crowd had parted to allow two nimble dryads to step forward. In their slender arms was a single, sturdy piece of curved wood.

Behind them came Titania and Oberon, flanking Snow White, who carried a pillow, upon which lay a shining ax head.

They stopped before the Woodcutter and Oberon spoke, “Woodcutter, you whom have never spilled the innocent sap of an unwilling tree, you have sacrificed yourself for us.”

Titania smiled gracefully at the Woodcutter, “You have faced even death to ensure the survival of our people.”

Oberon continued, “In doing so, you sacrificed an object you held dearest to free the soul of one of our own.”

“And so we thank you. We gift you this ax to replace the one that was destroyed, we gift you this ax, like the one we gave to your ancestor’s father so many years ago,” said Titania.

“An ax made of the same willing tree, an ax of the same mountain’s ore, shaped by the same hands that shaped its brother.”

One dryad stepped forward and took the pillow from Snow White. The other dryad handed the Princess the wooden handle. Snow White, shielded by her mortal side, picked up the iron ax head and fit the two pieces together.

Titania closed her eyes and placed her hands upon the instrument. Oberon placed his hands upon hers.

Their arms began to glow, faint at first, but then brighter and brighter until the light was blinding. Their lips mouthed silent words together and a hurricane wind swept through the glade, wrapping itself around the two. The wind rose as their voices rose and, with a mighty cracking sound that shook the earth, light vanished.

The head and the handle were one, made and bound by the magic of both fae and earth.

Titania took the ax, trembling with exhaustion, and she and Oberon knelt before the Woodcutter.

The entire host followed in kind.

“Gentle Woodcutter, we ask you once again to pick up your ax and resume your rightful place as protector and steward of this realm. We ask you humbly and with gratitude for the service you have already given to us.”

The Woodcutter rose and reached out to grasp the ax.

He smiled at the faerie kingdom and spoke so that all could hear, “I take my place as your humble servant from now to the end of my days.”

Oberon and Titania stood up and spoke together, “May that day be far away indeed.”

He nicked his palm and his sap ran clear.

He held the ax to the faerie rulers and they nicked their palms similarly, blue blood running down their hands.

Palm to palm, they renewed their vow to one another for one hundred centuries.

The hundred centuries after that would have to worry about their own vow.

Chapter 79

His feet thudded upon the dirt path, the birds flying along beside him. The Woodcutter looked up at the canopy of the trees and drank in the dappled sun.

Living was still new and he hoped that he would never forget how wondrous it felt.

Jack’s hand was warm within his… His son’s hand was warm within his.

The Woodcutter walked around the bend and there stood a house he had not seen in this lifetime, but had longed for every day in the lifetime before.

He swung Jack upon his shoulders and his feet seemed to fly up the road. Jack let out a whoop of joy.

From the corner of his eye, the Woodcutter thought he saw a wagging silver tail in the brush, but it disappeared when he turned his head.

Wisps of gray rose from the chimney. The garden was ripe with the fall harvest. The shadow of a person passed by the window, a person who made his new heart beat faster in his chest.

He placed Jack down and motioned at him to be quiet as they walked to the front door.

His hand rested upon the handle and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

He gently pushed the door open so as not to startle her and spoke, “Wife?”

She was standing by the window, the sun falling upon her chestnut curls and rough hands. Her ordinary face had been folded in worry.

But then their eyes met.

And the world stopped.

The worry fell to the ground, as did the dish she was holding. She crossed the floor to her husband, laughing and crying all at the same time.

Her tears flavored their kiss, tears of worry and joy and nights spent awake watching the road, hoping that a familiar shape would shape the dirt into a familiar footprint.

She held him and he held her, two souls that had known each other for ten years and ten years more.

Two souls reunited.

She pulled back, her fingers roughened by working the soil and tending to the garden, brushed the wrinkles and lines of his face, wrinkles and lines she had watched grow before her, borne of the experiences they had borne together. She seemed to memorize each feature.

He took those fingers and held them to his lips, loving them, loving them for loving him, loving them for teaching him how to love.

He looked at the woman who held his heart safe as she whispered his name.

He turned and held his hand out to Jack, who shyly stepped into the home. His wife looked at the child and looked at her husband.

And then the Woodcutter’s wife knelt down and gathered her son up into her arms.

And they lived happily ever after until the end of their days.