Red

by Liesl Shurtliff

  “Hold on there, little Red. Not so fast. That gargoyle gave you a right nasty smack in the head.”

  “Did you see him fight the gargoyles?” Goldie asked. “He ripped off one of their arms like an ear of corn!”

  Horst smiled. “I have a good amount of strength when the situation calls for it.”

  “We were fine,” I said. “Beast was letting us go when you came.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t have taken you in the first place. What a horrible thing to do to two little girls.”

  Yes, it had been horrible at first, but the beast wasn’t so bad in the end. Funny how that works. Sometimes things in life seem okay in the beginning but then turn out to be horrible. The problem is, you can’t really know until it’s too late.

  Horst put more wood on the fire.

  “I’m hungry,” said Goldie. “At the castle, we’d be having breakfast now.”

  Horst took out some dried meat from his satchel and handed us each a piece, taking none for himself. Goldie stared at the shriveled jerky. “At the castle, we would have had porridge with honey,” she said.

  “Well, I don’t have any honey,” said Horst, a slight edge to his voice. We ate the meat. It was tough and salty. We could barely tear through it with our back teeth, but after looking at all the animals on the walls, I didn’t much care to eat anyway.

  “Now,” said Horst when Goldie had given up on her leathery meal, “something tells me you didn’t end up at the enchanted castle by accident. You were looking for something, weren’t you? Perhaps some roses?”

  I glanced at Goldie.

  “I told him you were trying to save your granny,” said Goldie. “He already knew about The Red Roses.”

  I shifted, uncomfortable under Horst’s intense gaze.

  “You failed to retrieve the roses, but I think I may have what you’re looking for,” said Horst. I thought of the rhyme I had found in Beast’s library, but I felt uneasy. The wolves on the wall seemed to call to me, warning me to leave.

  Go, they said.

  “I really need to get home to Granny,” I said. “I think I can walk just fine now.”

  “But don’t you want to save your granny?” Horst asked. “Your friend said she was dying. If there was a way to save her, to keep her from death, wouldn’t you want to know?”

  I thought back on my journey. The Wine Well. The Red Roses. So far, each magic had come at too high a price. But there was one magic left that I had not fully explored. What if it really could save Granny? Should I turn my back on one last chance?

  “Do you know anything about Magic Hearts?” I asked.

  Horst smiled a little. “It sounds familiar. I will share my secrets, but in return, I need to know yours.”

  “I don’t have any secrets,” I said.

  “Oh, everyone has secrets, and I believe little witches have the best secrets of all, don’t you agree?” Horst’s eyes were dark and glassy in the dim light. They looked hungry.

  “Let me tell you a story,” Horst said.

  “Does it have a princess in it?” Goldie asked. “I only like stories with princesses.”

  “It does indeed.” Horst cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair. It reminded me of when Beast had told me her story in the library, but it was different. A chill crept up my arms as I listened to Horst, like a spider creeping slowly up my arm.

  “Once upon a time,” said the huntsman, “an evil queen ruled The Kingdom. She was jealous of her step-child, the princess Snow White.”

  Goldie sighed with exasperation. “Not that one! We’ve all heard it a thousand times. The queen tries to kill Snow White, so she goes to live with dwarves, and then the queen tries to kill her again with a poisoned apple, but then a prince comes along and kisses her awake.”

  “Yes,” said Horst, looking slightly annoyed. “That is one version of the story. I’m going to tell you another. Now, before the poisoned apple, the queen ordered a huntsman to take the girl deep into The Woods and kill her. He was told to bring the girl’s heart as proof of her death.”

  The hair at the nape of my neck prickled. Huntsman. A heart. Horst couldn’t possibly have been that huntsman. The story was over a hundred years old.

  “But he didn’t kill the princess,” said Goldie.

  “No,” said Horst. “The huntsman had killed many a beast in his lifetime, but he could not bear to kill such an innocent child, so he let her go, and then he killed a boar and took its heart to the queen and told her it was the heart of the princess. The queen intended to eat the heart for her victory feast. However, the queen, being greedy and vain, wanted to hear straightaway from her magic mirror that she was the fairest in all The Kingdom. But the mirror revealed that the princess Snow White was still alive. ‘Not so,’ said the queen. ‘For here I have proof of her death. Her heart!’ But the mirror had seen everything and told the queen how the huntsman had deceived her. Faster than he could draw an arrow, he was seized and thrown into the dungeon.”

  “The poor man!” said Goldie. “It’s so unfair.”

  “For days, the queen gave the huntsman no food or water. He was on the brink of death, barely able to move, when finally she came to him.

  “ ‘Please,’ said the huntsman. He reached his hand toward the queen, begging her to save him. The queen gave him no bread or water but placed in his hand the boar’s heart he had brought to her instead of Snow White’s.

  “ ‘This will be your last supper, huntsman,’ said the queen, and she left him, never to return again.

  “The huntsman clutched that heart to his chest and waited to die. Except he did not die. The huntsman stayed alive for weeks and months. There was no food or water, nothing in his cell except the heart. After several months, he realized it was the heart, still clutched tightly to his chest, that kept him alive. And not only did it keep him alive, it made him strong, so strong that he dug himself out of the dungeon. He clawed through the stone, dug through the dirt, until he reached the outside world. Free! Alive! And famished. He became suddenly weak and tired. His joints stiffened. His muscles seized. He knew that whatever magic the heart had given him was now fading. He needed more.

  “So he took the heart of another boar, and his power was restored. He took other hearts, too. Goats, sheep, deer, even bears, mountain lions, and wolves. Each beast made him stronger. And with his many hearts, the huntsman lived happily ever after.

  “The end.”

  Horst sat back, a sadistic grin on his face. Goldie looked at me, her mouth open in horror. This was not what I had expected. I had assumed The Magic Hearts had something to do with love. The best magic comes from the heart. But according to Horst’s story, they were actual hearts. That’s what Horst carried in the pouch hung around his neck—the heart of whatever beast was giving him his power. He was tugging at it now, staring at me, and I knew what he wanted.

  The wolves on the wall howled for me to go. Leave. Run.

  “That wasn’t a very good story,” said Goldie, apparently unaware of the truth of Horst’s tale.

  “You don’t think so?” Horst seemed amused.

  Goldie shook her head. “There wasn’t even a true love’s kiss.”

  Horst scoffed. “True love. Perhaps that’s all fine and well for brave knights and fair damsels, but what about the rest of us? You could live a lifetime and never find true love. I’ve seen it over and over. And even if you do find love, what then? It’s not as powerful as the stories always say. Is true love going to keep you alive? Will it make you strong? No.”

  “Yes!” said Goldie. “When I find true love, it will!”

  Horst shook his head. “Love cannot give you power. Living. Defying death. That’s power.”

  “And you hold that power, don’t you?” I blurted. “You’re the huntsman in the story, and those are your Magic Hearts.” I gestured to the pouch around his neck.

  Horst smiled. “Clever girl.”

  Goldie looked between us. “Wait. You mean you’re the one who
almost killed Snow White? But…that happened hundreds of years ago!”

  “Two hundred and twenty-three years, to be precise.”

  “You took Granny’s pigs,” I spat. “For their hearts. And the wolves…” I gritted my teeth. “You killed Wolf’s pack.” Everything was coming into sharp focus. Why hadn’t I seen this all before? His age, his pitiful, bumbling slowness, had pulled the wool over my eyes, kept me from seeing what he really was.

  “Come now,” said Horst. “You don’t think those vicious wolves would have done the same to me, given the chance? And I needed those pigs. I daresay they would have met the same end without me.”

  “You’re a huntsman, aren’t you? Seems awfully cowardly to hunt helpless pigs in a pen.”

  Horst’s composure faltered ever so slightly. “The animals…they’ve become aware of me. They hide and flee before I can catch them, and poor old Horst must have something.”

  I thought of how still and silent The Woods had been at times along our journey—when Horst was near. It was meaningless to me then, but I understood it now. It was as if they could sense the sinister magic in Horst, his brutal intentions, and now I could feel it, too, crawling all over my arms and neck like spiders.

  “And now,” said Horst, “let’s talk about your friend, the wolf. I’d like a word with him.”

  “Friend?” I said, forcing a laugh. “Wolves are very dangerous creatures. I don’t see how I can help you.”

  “You’re not fooling me,” said Horst. “Your little friend Goldie told me all about it, how the wolf trusts you, how he follows you around like a puppy.”

  Goldie was shaking her head, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m sorry, Red! I didn’t know! I didn’t know he was so horrible! I thought he’d understand.”

  “Indeed, I do!” said Horst. “I understand better than anyone. You wish to keep your grandmother alive, and I have the same wish for myself. What do you say, little Red? Shall we go for a walk? Shall we meet a wolf? They are particularly valuable to me.”

  “You’ve said that before. Why? Why are they particularly valuable?”

  “It has to do with the magic inside the heart, you see,” said Horst. “The more powerful the animal, the more powerful the heart, the longer it keeps me going. A moose gives me a solid month. A mountain lion, two, and one bear heart can keep me going for nearly three. But wolves…” Horst looked directly at me. “Wolves are the real prize. Wolves can keep me going for years.”

  “Then you should be safe for quite a while,” I said, glancing at the wolf heads on the walls, their dead eyes so cold and empty.

  “Ah, but that’s the interesting thing about wolves. Wolves are social creatures, unified and loyal. That’s where their magic comes from. Their hearts work as one, as a pack. In order to get the magic from one, I need them all, and once I have them all, it might just be enough magic to share with someone else. Someone very sick, nearly dying…”

  My blood ran cold. I shook my head.

  “I can save your granny,” said Horst. “Keep her from dying for a long, long time, maybe even forever. You could live forever, too.”

  Eternal life. It sounded like good magic. Anything that makes you live and grow is good, right? But the hearts…though they kept Horst alive, I didn’t think they made him grow and blossom, as Granny said good magic should. He was twisted and corrupt—cursed, maybe more so than Beast. Granny would never wish for such a fate. She wouldn’t even consider it.

  “I can’t help you,” I said.

  Horst’s face fell. “What will you do when she dies? Who will you have then?”

  “She has me!” shouted Goldie. “I’m her dearest friend in all the world.”

  Horst sighed. “Well then, I suppose there’s only one thing to be done.” He pulled out his long, curved knife. It flashed in the firelight. I flinched, but Horst didn’t touch me. He grabbed a handful of Goldie’s curls.

  “Ouch! That hurts, you horrible, mean man!”

  “What would you do for your dearest friend in all the world?” said Horst. “Would you help me to save her?”

  “Let her go,” I said in a weak voice.

  “Red, don’t help him! I’m not afraid to die! I’m nooo-aaagh!” Horst yanked cruelly on her hair, but Goldie grasped the poker by the fire, glowing hot, and waved it around until it smacked Horst on the head. He hollered and dropped his knife, slapping at his smoking hair.

  “Run, Red!” Goldie grabbed my hand and we raced to the door. I burst through, practically breaking it off its hinges, and both Goldie and I tumbled outside. I grabbed Goldie’s hand and yanked her to her feet, then shoved her down again as Horst let loose an arrow. It came right at me, but I lifted my cloak and the arrow fell harmlessly to the ground.

  I glanced back at Horst. He reached for another arrow, his face set with grim determination.

  “Stay inside my cloak,” I whispered to Goldie. She nodded, and we rose together and ran into The Woods. Horst shot at us again and again. The arrows whistled past my ears and pierced the trees. We were slow and awkward, two girls huddled together, hobbling through a dark forest, but Horst couldn’t be much faster. His hearts had made him strong and powerful, but stiff and slow, too. There had to be consequences for such magic. Maybe even more than Horst realized.

  Soon we outdistanced him. The arrows stopped, and I heard no footsteps in pursuit. We slowed to a walk.

  “Do you know where we are?” Goldie asked.

  I shook my head. We were in The Woods—near home—but our surroundings were dark and unfamiliar to me. I had no idea where Horst’s cabin was in relation to anything else. Were we north of the village? South, east, west? Where was my path? I took a few steps in every direction, hoping it would appear, willing it to life, but nothing happened.

  Goldie started to shiver beside me. I didn’t think it had to do with cold so much as shock. She’d had one too many frights for a day, but I couldn’t afford to give in to fear. I had to get us home.

  “Let’s keep walking,” I said. “We’ll find our way.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A Red Spell

  We walked for what seemed like hours, and still The Woods were unfamiliar. It was eerily silent. No creatures spoke. The nymphs did not whisper their memories, and the trees felt cold and lifeless. The only thing that moved was the mist, spilling over the ground like an overflowing potion, so thick my path would not have been visible even if it did appear.

  I pulled my hood over my head and wrapped my cloak tightly around Goldie and myself.

  A twig snapped. A flock of birds exploded out of a tree.

  Fly! Danger! they cried.

  Goldie jumped and clutched my arm. I searched for the cause of alarm. There was movement in the mist. My first instinct was to run, but then I paused. The figure was approaching too fast to be Horst, its movements graceful and agile.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. “It’s Wolf.”

  He bounded up to me and knocked me over. He licked my face and wagged his tail like an excited pup.

  I laughed. “Glad to see you, too,” I said. I picked myself up and scratched his ruff, feeling his relief, worry, anger, and excitement, all mixed together. He growled, low and fierce.

  Monster! he said, and for once I understood. The images of Wolf’s pack flashed through my mind, disappearing one by one. I now recognized them as the wolves I had seen adorning Horst’s walls.

  “I know,” I said. “Horst is a monster, but I won’t let him hurt you. I promise.” Wolf touched his nose to my fingers. I felt his complete trust, and the weight of my promise pressed down heavily upon me.

  “Look!” said Goldie, pointing at her feet.

  The mist had thinned enough for us to see the faint outline of a path. My path. It seemed to flicker in and out of view, threatening to disappear again, like it was having difficulty breathing.

  Granny…

  Granny had made my path with her magic. If the path was fading, that might mean Granny was
, too….

  “Let’s go,” I said. We walked as quickly as we could, and soon our surroundings started to look familiar. The knots in the trees, the rise of a hill, the rocks and brush—these were my Woods, but I did not feel at home.

  When we reached Granny’s cottage, it did not grow out of the trees with its usual flair and flourish. It just sat there, a dark and lonesome hut. No tendrils of smoke rose from the chimney, no candles glowed through the windows. No pigs or chickens clustered by the fence to greet me.

  “It looks a little…abandoned,” said Goldie.

  “That’s just because Granny’s been ill,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “She’s probably sleeping.”

  Wolf growled a little. He didn’t like the looks of it, either.

  “Wait here,” I said.

  “I’ll go with you, Red,” said Goldie. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Stay here. Granny isn’t fond of strangers.”

  Wolf whined some more and nipped at the edge of my cloak.

  Stay.

  “I have to go see Granny.” I left them behind and approached the cottage. My heart pounded faster and louder with each step. My stomach and throat tightened into knots. Was I too late? In my quest to save Granny, had I missed what little time I had left with her?

  Knock, knock, knock. I tapped on the door. “Granny?” I called. “It’s Red.”

  “Come in, child. It’s not locked.”

  I sighed with relief. Granny’s voice was very hoarse, but she was here. She was alive.

  I opened the door. The house was dim and shadowy, but the cottage was much as I had left it—bread on the table, vials and jars on the shelves, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling—though it smelled funny. The usual fragrance of herbs and spices was overpowered by the smell of smoke and game. I guessed this was the smell of someone who’d been ill and bedridden, but for some reason it made the hair on my arms prickle. It wasn’t the right smell for Granny’s cottage.

  I looked to the bed and almost laughed. Granny was in her wolf costume! She must have been feeling better if she was in good enough spirits to be playing jokes. She must have known I was coming!