They take a long stare at each other until Duncan breaks the silence between them. "Some of the men are low on supplies, and request permission to hunt."
"What do you think is best?" Henry asks his brother in return. The question surprises me. Is he so tired that he can't make this simple decision?
It appears Duncan is surprised by the question as well; Henry has not asked his opinion on anything so far. "I think if we form a small hunting party it should be all right as long as we don't go too far and stay close together."
He is about to turn and leave, but stops. "Is she . . ." Duncan begins. His hesitation is like a sheet of thin ice over the water, and Henry dares not intrude upon it. We wait for Duncan to finish his sentence. "Are you still seeing her? Is that who you were talking to? The sleeping princess?"
Rather than answer, Henry begins setting up his bed and pulls a sack of supplies from the pouch strapped to his saddle—almonds and berries surrounding a small chunk of stale bread.
"Henry, I think you need some sleep. You've been guarding nearly every night."
Knowing this to be only a partial truth, I think of the nights previous. Henry had volunteered again and again, knowing I could watch for him and he could sleep, and not only that, but all the men around him could sleep also.
"Please don't tell me what to do. I don't need to sleep."
"Fair enough. I'll go out with the hunting party. Captain Storm says we should reach our final destination tomorrow before midday. Should we prepare a party to meet with the barbarians first thing?"
"That sounds like a good plan. You are far better at this than I am."
Duncan leans in close. "Henry, take heart. It will work out in the end. You will see."
Henry gives a half smile to his brother and nods as he sets out a thin wool cloth for his bed.
"He looks so much like you," I say, sitting next to him. "It's surreal, much like my dreams sometimes, like when I go to a place that I know I've been before, but it's not quite the same."
"We are nothing alike other than our faces."
"I don't think that's true."
"Who asked your opinion?"
It's hard to tell if he's joking. Part of me thinks he's serious. I know he is under pressure I have never known, but I am tired of his attitude. "You're the one who asked me to come with you. Would you like me to leave?"
"No!"
I want to laugh at him, and if I could I would pick a pine cone off the ground and throw it at him. He sounds so desperate. "You need to relax. Engage in some light conversation. Henry, you're entirely too serious."
"Eglantine, I'm sorry for bringing you."
"Do you regret asking me to come?"
"Not for my sake."
"Then say no more. I do not mind being here with you, even though you're such a pain." He almost smiles at that. Almost, but not quiet.
My mind travels back to the day we left, the day Duncan had interrupted his armor fitting, the day I'd learned that he . . .
"Eglantine, what do you think will come of us?"
Caught off guard, I'm unsure how to answer. Is he speaking of the two of us, or of his country?
"What do you mean?"
"If Duncan and I both die, what will happen to our people?"
I catch a whiff of orange blossom again. Perhaps Aunt Cornelia is saying goodbye, leaning over me and whispering something, but I push myself away from any awareness of her.
I look at Henry, so burdened right now, his eyes tired and heavy looking, his shoulders slumped as he hugs his knees to his chest.
"Don't you have laws in place in case of something like that?"
He looks surprised by the question, then as if he's deep in thought. "I don't know."
"Well, I'm sure you do. I'm sure your father and his parents before him had a plan of action in case of something just like this. It sounds like you have a lot to learn about your kingdom. It can't be done in five years. You were not prepared for this war. It came suddenly, and you are doing the best you can."
He takes in a deep breath, lifting his shoulders and looking up through the trees to the darkening sky. "I'm terrified of losing him. That's what I'm most afraid of now. That Duncan will die and I will live. I'd never forgive myself."
I reach out to him. It feels natural to do, even though I cannot brush my hand against his cheek as I want to. "Then let's make sure nothing happens to him."
"I wish I could feel your hand," he says, placing a fist to his cheek. It is getting too dark for me to see the color of his eyes, the details of his face, but I know he is keeping his eyes locked on mine. "I meant what I told Duncan in the tailor room before we left."
I've been waiting for days now for him to bring it up, wondering if I'd imagined the words, or if some other sleeping princess existed besides myself. "All I remember about that conversation is that you shushed me when I tried to stand up for myself."
I mean it as a joke, but Henry does not even crack a smile.
"Perhaps you should get some sleep before the hunting party comes back. Tomorrow is a big day."
"Do you remember when we met as children?"
The question surprises me. He has never mentioned it since that first day I saw him in my dreams. "No," I answer.
He leans back, resting his palms on the wool blanket and looking back at the sky. "Your mother and father had brought you to Fallund for a visit. You stayed a night in our castle."
"Did I? I remember some of our trips to Fallund a little, but not staying in the castle. And we met?"
"You must have been only three or four, but I was old enough to remember." He looks at me once more, still solemn. "I was taken with you even then. Your cheeks were pudgier, and your hair is a bit darker and not quite as curly. Now you appear much like a ghost to me, but your gray eyes are as piercing as they ever were. We played together all evening—you, Duncan and I."
I am not sure why this memory of his wells up such emotion in me. "Get some sleep," I say because I can't bear to hear anymore. I want to be strong for him. He agrees and lies down.
I wait near him, thinking of this tender memory, wishing I could run my fingers through his hair, until Duncan returns. I watch as the younger prince of Fallund places a slab of cooked meat near his brother, having used tree bark for a plate, and covering it with a giant leaf to help keep it warm. I do not have to look closely to see their mutual affection, despite how hard they try not to show it to each other.
Henry wakes, probably because of the smell. He eats, offering me a bite with a teasing smile on his face.
Duncan steps toward us once more. "The men are tired and want to sleep."
"Very well. I am awake, and will watch over our camp tonight."
"I could stay up with you."
"No!"
I shrink in discomfort at having watched the exchange, and Duncan huffs as he turns to leave.
"Why don't you let him help you?" I ask.
"He needs his sleep. They all do."
"What about you?"
"I've had my sleep. I'll be fine." I try not to smile, knowing he will fall asleep shortly after everyone else and I will be left to watch over the camp alone. Not that I mind; it's just amusing that he can't admit how tired he is.
"Will you keep watch with me? In case I fall asleep again?"
Grateful for the recognition, I answer, "Of course."
* * *
At first sign of dawn, when only a hint of a glow beckons from the horizon, I make a quick sweep over camp, flying clumsily at first, then gracefully. There is no sign of anything up ahead of the intended march. I float back down to Henry and crouch beside his ear.
"Time to wake up," I whisper.
He jolts up so quickly that had I been physically present, his head would have smashed into mine.
I can see his heart beating fast against his chest. He reaches for his canteen, dribbles some water onto his hand and splashes his face with it.
"Is anyone else awake yet?"
; "No, not that I could tell."
"Thank you, Eglantine, for letting us all get the rest we so desperately need."
"Who are you talking to?" I spin around and Duncan is standing right over us.
"I wasn't talking."
"Don't lie to me. I heard you."
"All right. Fine." Henry looks up to his brother, still sitting on his makeshift bed. "I was talking to the sleeping princess. I slept like a baby all night knowing she could keep watch since she never stops sleeping. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"You're going mad. Henry, I think the pressure of all this is too much for you. Let me take you back to the castle, get you cleaned up, feed you a real meal."
"What are you talking about? You haven't eaten a real meal in over five years. I know because I eat at the royal dining table alone."
"Well at least I don't talk to people who don't exist."
Henry glances at me. I try to give him a look of reassurance. I don't mind Duncan's words. I don't blame him, knowing he can't see me.
"Can we just forget about this for now?" Henry asks. "Please?"
"Whatever you say." I can hear the hurt in his voice. Bowing his head, Duncan walks away, and Henry stares after him for a time.
"We need to get packed up. The sooner we get on with this day, the sooner it will all be over, one way or the other."
I walk beside Henry again, once camp is packed up, and we move slowly, waiting for the scouts to return and bring us word. It is not a welcome sight to see them on their horses, coming up from behind a hill in the distance, riding at full speed toward us and yelling words we can't quite make out yet.
"Halt!" Henry yells, and those nearest stop first, followed by every soldier I can see spread out on either side of us. They hold their spears pointing upward or their bows and arrow-filled quivers strapped to their backs.
I look at Henry, sitting up straight on his horse, so poised and seemingly unaffected.
Then we see them. The ravenous barbarians coming, their screams growing louder and larger as more and more of them rise over the hill and fall in masses toward us. They sweep the land, cover a straight line as far as I can see.
"What's happening?" Henry yells to one of the scouts when he is close enough to hear.
"They saw us coming and turned to chase us, the whole lot of them it seemed."
"How many?"
"At least five thousand."
Henry squints at the people bearing down on us. I begin to notice their ragged clothing, made of thin animal skins mostly, and then I realize it isn't just men. Women and children are in the throng, holding knives, spears and axes alongside their grown male counterparts. Only the men hold bows and I wonder why. Have they not trained the women to use them?
Duncan is riding toward us. "We can't kill women and children."
"Well they're going to kill us! Men, prepare yourselves."
In unison, each soldier readies their weapon of choice, some pointing spears, some grasping their bows, and others holding onto a sword with both hands. They stand crouched and ready.
"We charge on three!" Henry yells. I do not want to watch. He turns to me quickly, and quietly pleads. "Eglantine, please keep an eye on Duncan."
"Of course," I say.
"One! Two! Three! Charge!"
At first, it feels slow, the soldiers pulling out, but soon there is a thunderous noise as the horses and men pound their hooves and feet across the grassy valley.
A woman catches my attention, her hair matted and wild, standing away from her head like an angry wave of the sea. She holds an axe and runs screaming, so determined that she pulls away from the rest. I watch a soldier aim his bow at her, pull back his arrow, and shoot. She is the first to fall, but the others continue undeterred, as if they hadn't even noticed. Those behind her run around her body or jump over her.
Looking toward Duncan, I try to read him. Not as unbending as Henry, he is worried, tentative, hesitant. I watch him make the first slicing swings of his sword. He kills only men, and seems to grow braver with every kill, although the look on his face—one of disgust and horror—tells me he isn't pleased with his actions.
Henry rides brave, and rather than killing at will, he strategically looks for those who are about to harm one of his men, a skillful protector.
The battle rages on, the clanging of metal, the spilling of blood, and I hate watching.
Duncan is hit. I see him fold forward, and an arrow sticks out of his side. Henry has not noticed, and I am grateful. Moving to Duncan, I hover around him, prepared to yell for the only one who can hear me if needed. But it is too late; an arrow is aimed right at him.
"Duncan, get down," I yell, and as if he's heard me he slips off his horse, dropping his sword and landing in a pile on the grass.
I kneel beside him.
"Duncan, lie down."
He looks around. "Who said that?"
He can hear me! "Duncan, it's Eglantine. Lie down and pretend you are asleep. That way they will leave you alone."
I try to drown out the horrible screaming and cries of agony, the groaning and slaughter, and just focus on him.
"Trust me," I urge him. "Please, lie down and try to sleep."
Duncan looks around, trying to locate me, and then his eyes meet mine, or so it seems. "Eglantine?" he asks.
"Yes," I sputter, an unexpected joy bursting out of me at the idea that he can see me too.
He rolls over slightly and rips the arrow from his side, stifling a scream.
"Shhhhhh."
Resting his head on the grass near me and closing his eyes, he asks if I will sing to him, tells me it will comfort him to hear something other than the sounds of war.
He almost begs.
Flustered, I pull a song from memory, the only song I remember, and begin, uncertain at first, but growing stronger. It bends and sways, this song of the ocean tide, and soon he is asleep, the grass staining red beneath him.
1
Sleeping Beauty and the Beast
12
Beast
A gnawing pain at Duncan's right side forced him awake. Surrounded by dense, moist fog, he could see nothing. Breathing led to sputtering coughs, which only sent a resonating sharp pain through his stomach.
What had happened? Duncan searched his memory. It came in flashes, the sight of the barbarians turning to fight them, the surprise arrow through his side from the back, the gruesome sounds of war, and finally, the face of the ghost girl. Eglantine. He had seen the sleeping princess. She had warned him when danger was near so he could fake dead, and then answering his pleas, had sung to him.
Torn between the warning in his head that tried to convince him he'd been dreaming—or worse, hallucinating—and the guilt tugging at his heart that he'd been so cruel to Henry, Duncan closed his eyes and rested once more. Moving in any direction caused his side to sear in pain. Duncan lay on his back, his legs bent and crossed beneath him, stiff and achy; moving them would be every bit as difficult as turning over. His hands and arms tingled, feeling weighty and numb. Only able to shift his head, Duncan looked to his side only to find a corpse: eyes wide, mouth open, a soldier from his country that he did not know. Forcing himself to look away, Duncan thought of nothing but his own survival. How was he going to get back home?
The fog sped along above and around him, opening up in places to expand his view of the valley around him and the forest in the distance. A far-off call sounded, barely audible, a human voice. Not knowing whether the voice was friend or foe, Duncan waited patiently, prepared to fake dead again.
The voice grew closer, calling out the same two syllables over and over.
Finally, it became clear. "Duuuun-caaaan!"
Opening his mouth, Duncan tried to call back, but stopped at the resulting sputtering and coughing.
"Duncan?" It was Henry's voice.
He could hear the footsteps now, boots tromping across the damp grass with determination.
"Duncan?
"Here," Du
ncan called. "I'm here."
When Henry's face appeared through the fog, Duncan wanted to leap up, but no part of his trunk or limbs approved.
"Stay there," Henry said. "I'll bring my horse."
Duncan didn't know why, but when Henry turned to leave, a sudden fear seized him. Terrified of being left alone, he called for his brother to come back.
"Eglantine, I found him."
Hearing her name eased him some, which he couldn't explain either. Rather than worry, Duncan began thinking how wonderful it was that Henry had come out unscathed. He could never have lived with the idea that Henry had died while he had not.
A horse appeared above Duncan's head, forcing Duncan to wonder if he was still falling unconscious now and then; it had come out of nowhere.
"Don't worry, Duncan. We'll get you back home and fix you up."
"Is she here?" Duncan asked. "Eglantine?"
"Can't you pick a better time to make fun of me? You must not be hurt that bad if you can still take a jab at your brother."
Cursing Henry's stubbornness, Duncan tried to find a way to explain it quickly in order to save his breath. Talking took so much energy, and the words came out with such great difficulty because of the pressure in his chest.
"I've seen her." Duncan paused to make a few attempts to draw air into his lungs. "She stayed with me. Sang to me."
Henry knelt by his brother now. "I'm glad you had the chance to meet her. She's the one who led me back to you. If you'll be quiet now, this isn't going to be pleasant."
Duncan cried out in pain as Henry reached down and hefted him up into his arms.
"What?" Henry asked. He must have been talking to Eglantine. "Oh, right."
"I'm going to set you on the horse, but Eglantine reminded me that covering your wound would be a good idea."
The saddle was cold, and Duncan thought it felt unnatural compared to the grassy valley floor. Duncan leaned forward, grabbing hold of the horse's mane, trying desperately to think of something other than the pain, but having little success. Henry's arms wrapped a cloth around him several times as he tied his middle up.
"Is that too snug?"
Sleeping Beauty and the Beast Page 11
