Rosa

by Elizabeth S Tyree

  Chapter One

  In which it is made clear that this is no ordinary fairy tale

  Heavy boots crunched through the seemingly silent forest, followed by swiftly by the sound of cultured voices cursing. The animals trying to go about their day to day business stopped to watch this new form of entertainment. They did not find themselves greatly amused.

  “Hey Rkaww,” A plump red squirrel called across branches to her friend, raven. “Do you hear these idjets?”

  “I have ears don’t I? They’re better than fairy theater,” Rkaww agreed lazily from his own perch, “Do you think that they’re looking for Rose by any chance?”

  “Sounds like it,” she admitted darkly, “By the Tree, I hope neither of these bumbling baboons wakes her!”

  Soon the trees were filled with all sorts of creatures watching, and mocking, the show put on by the two intruders in fresh capes and shiny new boots.

  “Do you think either one of them has ever been outside before Ginger?” A young phoenix landed next to squirrel and raven so lightly that her voice startled them both.

  “Feera,” the squirrel gasped, “We have talked about this! But, moving on; no, I don’t think either of them has worn boots before today, let alone ventured out in them. See how silly they look just trying to lift their feet!”

  The trio laughed softly, trying to contain themselves as they focused again on the duo’s slow progress.

  “My feet feel heavy cousin,” the shorter of the two whined loudly. “And my toes are pinchy! Tell me again why we must wear these blasted things!”

  “You know why Brantmyr,” the taller, more traditionally handsome prince squeaked out in an alarmingly breathy falsetto. “Grandmother commanded that we no go in to the forest with bare toes.”

  “And just because Grandmama said it, it must be the law,” Brantmyr mocked petulantly. “As though bare toes were an unseemly sight to behold. PAH!”

  “Grandmother is the QUEEN of Sandonia,” his cousin pointed out, pausing to brace himself against a tree and pant like an old dog. “Her commands are law Branty.”

  “Well, Trolly,” Brantmyr shot back testily, “I, for one, think the notion of boots to be far out dated and even just down right ridiculous! If we were not made to hide our feet away in such heavy monstrosities, our toes would be free to grip roots, balance branches, and rejoice in the evergreen spiced air! All of which would, no doubt, propel us toward the drowsing damsel with much hastier, and happier, steps.”

  “Please do not call me Trolly,” Prince Trollop Tar III sighed heavily at his cousin, “You know that I was named after my father and grandfather, who were named for my great grandmother. It is a family heirloom not meant to made a joke of! As for the rest of that tirade, I believe Grandmother was more concerned about animal bites and cone cuts than the joy of your toes. Do stop being so overly dramatic, Branty Boy. We have a princess to find so that I may awaken her with my sweet sweet kiss.”

  “Don’t you mean so that I may awaken her with my sweet sweet kisses?” Brantmyr leered at his cousin as they began their clumsy hike anew.

  Whatever retort Trolly would have made was lost in a shriek and a rustle of cape as the two tripped over each other and landed in a tangled heap, their indignant cries covering up the derisive laughter of the creatures perched above them.

  “Toes are marvelous things,” Feera chirped, earning nods of agreement from her companions.

  “But those maroons would have lost all of theirs by now, bumbling through the woods like that,” Rkaww argued haughtily, flexing his own, lovely claws.

  “I would have eaten all twenty of their delicate pedicured appendages,” A passing snake agreed happily, “but those boots are too thick for my fangs.”

  They all nodded solemnly and discreetly shuffled out of the way before silently following the nit-witted humans through the trees.

  Chapter Two

  In which we learn a lot about a little

  “Do you think that they have any idea where they’re going?” Ginger squeaked out nervously as the princes unexpectedly made a correct decision at a fork in the path.

  “I doubt it,” Rkaww cawed dismissively, “Aren’t the tales a little vague in that regard?”

  A passing foxling with fairy rider paused to quietly yip up to them, “Will you tell us the story Feera?”

  The phoenix smiled as her friends emphatically egged her one. “But we’ll lose the silly humans if we stop to take a story break.”

  “Nonsense,” the young fox proclaimed, “We’ll be able to hear them arguing for miles.”

  As this was generally accepted for fact and her companions were begging prettily, Feera settled her tail feathers on a particularly mossy branch and beckoned for them all to move closer. Once they had all settled in, she cleared her throat and began softly:

  Once, not so long ago as to be forgotten, there lived a sweet little girl named Rosa. Her parents owned the best bakery in the kingdom and she enjoyed a fun life of being spoiled and beloved of her entire town.

  Though she was so well taken care of, Rosa was also well taught and as she aged, she grew lovelier outside and in. So beautiful and compassionate was she, in fact, that people began comparing her to an ancient and much adored Queen of our land, Kingdom and forests alike: Snow White.

  Though Snow’s skin is said to have been as white as, well, snow, and Rosa’s was the color of softly polished copper, the inner light of a truly loving soul made that comparison an apt descriptor for all. And so, Rosa grew up on the pretty street, in the big house, in the small town, loving all she met and being adored in return.

  That is, until the night before her eighteenth birthday, when a mysterious, young man appeared in her remote village, riding a red stallion and dressed sumptuously in fine leathers. Since no inn had been built in this tiny village, the man, who everyone quietly agreed must be some sort of royalty to be decked out with such finery, begged a floor to take refuge on for the night.

  Rosa, hearing him ask so sweetly for even just a stall for he and his horse to share, immediately rushed forward to offer the stranger the use of their spare stall and a guest room. Stricken by her sweet demeanor and lively eyes, he immediately nodded his assent and followed her meekly home.

  Throughout the long evening and night that followed, Joseph (for that was the man’s name) became more and more entranced with the woman until, finally, he could no longer bear it and declared his undying love for her. Rosa, however, was not convinced that love could be felt so strongly by the six hour mark of a relationship and sweetly refused Joseph’s advances.

  “But if I kiss her first and then you swoop in and smooch her awake, does that mean that I really woke her up and it just took a second for the magic to kick in?” Trollop’s attempt at logical reasoning echoed through the trees, interrupting story time and unpleasantly startling the gathered group.

  Chapter Three

  In which fear becomes a factor

  “See,” Ginger snapped derisively to no one in particular, “They have no clue. Just walking around in circles they are.”

  “Hoy, Trolly,” Brantmyr hailed his still reasoning cousin, “I think we’ve walked in a circle.”

  “Don’t change the subject!” Trollop waved away Brant’s concern angrily, “We need to agree on this...what happens if she wakes up because kisser A warmed her up for kisser B? Huh? It’s quite the riddle, I can’t seem to logic it out.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you knew what logic was cousin,” Brantmyr remarked snidely.

  “These two are getting annoying,” the fairy groused under her breath.

  “They’re getting there?” Rkaww laughed mirthlessly, “You were late to the party. Stick around winger, these tools get worse by the minute.”

  The fairy started to repl
y but was interrupted by the crashing of Brantwyr and Trollop far too close to their hiding place for anyone’s comfort.

  “That’s the way we went before, Trolly,” Brantmyr grabbed his cousin’s silky cape and yanked him to the left, neither of them paying any attention to the startled scattering of animals attempting to avoid being squashed by their large, ungainly, leather clad feet.

  “No it is NOT!” Trollop swirled and swatted at his cousin, succeeding only in becoming so entangled in the cape that the prince tumbled to the ground, writing among roots and leaves as trussed up as if kidnappers has gotten a hold of him.

  “Stop that sniggering this instant!” Trollop yelled irritably at his sober faced cousin.

  “I am not sniggering!”

  “I hear you!” Trollop’s indignant voice now floated out from beneath layers of fabric as his struggle for freedom wrapped him up even more tightly.

  “That’s not me,” Brantmyr turned a slow circle in place, “But I hear them too.”

  “Them?” Trollop’s voice sounded even smaller and more frightened, “Did you say THEM?” he squeaked.

  “Yes,” Branmyr squeaked a little too, “I did.”

  For one terrible, long second the two went rigid, not daring to move or even breath. Then fear overcame their other anxieties and sent them into frenzied motion.

  Brantmyr, for all of his bravado, took off careening into the nearest thicket, tripping over flowers, bouncing off of trees, and leaving his bewildered cousin to die, still stuck on the clearing’s floor.

  Trollop, for his part, was so wrapped up in his own thrashing and screeching (not to mention his cloak) that he never knew of his cousin’s cowardly departure.

  Fear is a funny thing at times. Fear of predators sent Brantmyr running from his cousin and in a meandering circle that led right back to Trollop.

  Fear of being the butt of some unknown, voyeuristic enemy’s joke sent Trollop’s endeavors at freeing himself into overdrive so that he eventually managed to snag his cloak on a sharp branch and tear it, freeing himself (and then promptly tripping on tattered cloak remains, hitting his head on a tree trunk, and knocking himself out cold).

  Finally, fear of these two scarily inadequate princes finding their beloved Rosa had the animals scrambling to remember human fairy tales, and foibles.

  The animals, who had by then (of course) managed to contain their laughter, watched Trollop’s unfortunate misadventure from high above, safely ensconced in the branches of the evergreen he tried, and failed, to fight.

  They continued their vigil over his prone form solemnly until his cousin returned for, as Ginger pointed out regretfully, it was their merriment that had led to that particular series of unfortunate events.

  They almost blew their cover when Brantmyr returned to the clearing, bleeding, confused, and mud encrusted, to stumble and fall at his unconscious cousin’s side. Raising a wail that could awaken night dwellers and frighten shadows, Brantmyr bemoaned the apparent demise of his favorite (and only) cousin.

  Gathering the now lightly snoring Trollop into his arms and rocking gently, Brantmyr let his tears flow freely as he yelled his sadness to the sky. In the midst of all the melancholy, Trollop opened his eyes, scrambled out of his cousin’s enveloping arms, and slapped Brantmyr upside while demanding that he “SHUT UP! I’ve got a roaring skull ache and your whimpering only makes it worse ya little girl!”

  “HUMPH!” Ginger snorted derisively as Brantmyr chose to ignore his cousin’s testy outburst and grabbed Trollop into a back crunching bear hug.

  “Little Girl indeed! Well girls get things done Mister! Why I oughtta go down there..”

  Feera, fearing her squirrel friend’s increasingly loud chattering would cause yet another issue for the animals to feel guilt over, quickly stuffed a large nut in Ginger’s mouth and led their small band further into the woods surrounding their little clearing.

  Chapter Four

  In which night falls and we leave the prince’s to their own devices

  “Now then, the phoenix began as her friends settled themselves around her once again. “The day has gotten away from our new friends. They don’t seem to be the type to keep trying in the dark, so let’s take a few minutes to regroup and get back to them later, shall we?”

  Rkaww the raven, Ginger the squirrel, Mauze the fairy, and Fred the foxling all nodded solemnly at the Phoenix from their perches and sat, silently breathing in the twilight and listening to the sounds of rekindled arguments coming from the direction of the area that they had just vacated.

  “Feera?” Fred asked timidly after several semi-silent seconds had ticked by. “Would you please finish telling us the human’s version of Rosa’s story now?”

  “Oh yes!” Ginger agreed readily as the fairy clapped in excitement, “A story would be just thing!”

  “And,” added solemn eyed Rkaww helpfully, “Those stumbling, bumbling, ridiculous morons interrupted us before we could remember if the story gives them any decent directions to find our girl.”

  “That is true,” Feera pretended to contemplate the question for a moment or two. “Well, I suppose research is a vital key step in any such an expedition. Ok Freddy, you’ve got it! One more story time coming right up!” She paused, flicked an errant flame colored feather from her perfectly coiffed wing and watched it float idly to the ground before cocking her head to the side quizzically and asking, “Does anyone remember where we were? In the story I mean.”

  “I do, I DO!” the foxling’s excited yips were punctuated with small hops that shook the branches and made everyone feel a bit sea sick. “I know where we were Feera!”

  “Well go on then,” Rkaww commanded gruffly, flapping up to a more sedentary perch, “Tell her before anyone dies or gets motion sickness from your over exuberance.”

  “Oh, right...sorry,” Fred flopped across the juncture of three stout branches and panted out, “Rosa didn’t think Joseph could really love her after only knowing each other for six hours, so she wouldn’t marry him!”

  “Yes, yes,” Feera’s feathered body shivered with a quick flicker of anticipation, “I do remember now Fred: Rosa had just refused Fred’s proposal. Is everyone ready to continue then?”

  Chapter Five

  In which we learn the rest of the story

  The group of friends settled once more around Feera, even Mauze the fairy making sure to leave a large space between herself and her highly excitable fairy foxling.

  Nodding sagely at the furred and feathered audience, Feera delicately cleared her throat and began grandly, “We pick up where our story was interrupted:

  Sweet Rosa, the much beloved only child of the kingdom’s best and favorite baker, has turned down a proposal for her hand in marriage from Joseph, a mysterious gentleman of obvious means and education, whom she had met for the first time mere hours earlier. Joseph did not take her rejection well.

  No matter how many times Rosa tried to explain her reasoning to him, Joseph refused to be mollified.

  Lurking beneath his genteel, well-bred, good humored exterior existed a snarling ball of beast with untold amounts of anger management issues.

  Somewhere around sweet Rosa’s third apology, the chains that kept his beast in check were strained past their breaking point and snapped, leaving the man buried deep behind as the beast took over.

  “So you refuse to marry us, do you?” The previously cultured voice had suddenly gone flat, sharp, and deep. Startled, Rosa looked up into eyes that had changed from soft moss to feral yellow, and she began to scream.

  Feera paused dramatically and allowed her friends a moment to react accordingly before leaning in closer and continuing the story in softer, huskier tones.

  Her screams were cut off abruptly as the sweet man Rosa had been enjoying getting to know wrapped suddenly rough hands around her throat and squeezed, pulling the girl’s face so close to his own that their noses brushed as he uttered the words that would change her life forever:

  Everyo
ne loves you. They compare you to an ancient, beloved queen and smile serenely at your spoiled behaviors. You are nothing special. No, you are just a mutton headed, nilly knocker, with a good complexion.

  “Well guess what little girl. You want to be like Snow? Now you will have the chance!”

  He threw Rosa across the room, sending her sprawling and gasping into an overturned wing back chair.

  Luckily, or perhaps unluckily depending on your perspective, no one came barging in to see what the ruckus was about and, with another snarl in her direction, the Joseph shaped beast went on with his curse.

  Rosa found herself unable to speak, then to move her arms, then her legs, and then even her eyelids stopped listening to her. Slowly, ever so slowly, Rosa found her eyelashes lowering to rest on her cheeks and her breath deepening as she slipped in to a deeply magical sleep. Some people say that the thing she felt last before sinking into that forever sleep was fear of whatever sinister thing Joseph had planned for her inert form. Some say that she felt only the beginning trail of drool making its way across her cheek.