Cinderella: Ninja Warrior

by Maureen McGowan

  Her stepmother turned to Agatha and Gwendolyn, who looked confused. “What do you think of your dresses, girls?”

  Gwen looked to her mother for clues as to how she should respond, while Agatha’s attention vacillated between the dresses and Gwen.

  “Fine work, wouldn’t you say?” her stepmother asked.

  “Oh, yes!” Agatha ran her fingers over the beading again before stepping back to admire her dress. “I think they’re absolutely beautiful. The prince won’t be able to resist us.” She turned to Gwendolyn and grabbed her hands. “Don’t you think so, Sister?”

  Gwendolyn lifted one of the feathered sleeves of her dress, and her lips twitched as if she were fighting to keep a smile down. “They’re all right, I suppose.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” her stepmother said.

  Cinderella’s insides froze.

  “You’ve created a big problem for your sisters, Cinderella.”

  Her mind spun with the possible problems. “But the beading is lined,” she said, “and I made sure the feathers don’t fall too far down, so neither Gwen nor Agatha will trip while waltzing with the prince.” What problem could she have neglected to anticipate?

  “Slippers. Handbags. Hair adornments.” Her stepmother shook her head as if she were talking to a child who couldn’t remember that seven came after six. “After what you’ve done, nothing the girls own will do, and with my other engagements today, I cannot make time to shop with them.” She pursed her lips together.

  “You’re right, Mother.” Gwendolyn turned up her nose as if smelling sour milk.“My slippers are covered with brushed silver threads, but they won’t do with this gown. Under the feathered hem, they’ll look plain and everyone will laugh.”

  Cinderella suppressed a cry of protest. She agreed that the slippers Gwendolyn had planned to wear would be inappropriate with the gown, but not for the same reason. A much simpler pair of slippers would be better—ones of a soft dove gray, or the palest of pale pinks.

  “What will we do about this, girls?” her stepmother asked, crossing her arms over her bosom.

  “Tear off the beading and feathers?” Gwendolyn suggested, which made Cinderella’s stomach feel as if it were about to expel the few bites of porridge that had been left for her to eat after the others had finished.

  All her work torn apart? Even her stepmother would never be that cruel. Would she?

  “Mother.” Agatha stepped forward. “Given we have only today to shop, perhaps Cinderella should accompany Gwen and me to the village to help us pick out new slippers.”

  “That’s actually a good idea,” remarked Gwendolyn, running her hand over the beading on her dress. She turned to her mother with a forced smile on her face. Agatha beamed at the praise from her sister.

  Cinderella took a deep breath and tried to keep her expression neutral. She was thrilled at the idea of going to the village, even though her sisters were motivated purely by self-interest. They would do everything they could to look their best at the ball, and although Gwen wouldn’t admit it, she and her sister relied completely on Cinderella for fashion advice.

  Her stepmother’s eyebrows drew more closely together and Cinderella wished she could read the evil woman’s mind. She wanted to feel hopeful that her stepmother was at least considering her daughters’ suggestion, but Cinderella couldn’t fully let herself believe it.

  “It is important that you stand out at the ball,” her stepmother said. She approached her daughters and cupped their cheeks, almost affectionately. “It’s imperative that one of you end up married to the prince. Imagine the power.” Her voice lowered and the silence crept over Cinderella like a cluster of spiders.

  Her stepmother spun around and said, “Fine. Take Cinderella to the village if it will increase your chances of catching the prince’s eye. If Cinderella can’t find anything acceptable, she can certainly bead your shoes, bags, and combs as easily as she did these gowns.” She glared at Cinderella as she offered the challenge. “Can’t you?”

  Excitement rushed through Cinderella at the thought of getting off the grounds for the first time in nine years. Her breath caught in her throat. Even if her reward for doing her work quickly was yet more work—pushing the ultrathin beading needle through leather would be a challenge—she was going to the village.

  “And, Cinderella,” her stepmother said, rubbing her finger and thumb over her chin.

  “Yes, Stepmother?” She fought to keep her voice even.

  “Your hard work deserves a reward.” She turned to the others.“Don’t you agree, girls?”

  Filled with anticipation, Cinderella could hardly stand still, but her stepmother’s voice was tinged with deceit, as if she were hiding something behind her back even though her hands remained in plain sight.

  Cinderella’s heart raced. Her insides buzzed. Would her stepmother let her buy fabric to replace the rags she now wore?

  The evil woman reached for the small black pouch she had dangling from her belt and pulled out a coin. “Cinderella, purchase something for yourself. A new broom would be useful, I think.”

  Cinderella grinned. It wasn’t a great reward, but she did need a new broom, and her stepmother couldn’t crush the happy feelings floating through her. She hadn’t been to the village, or off the grounds at all, since she was nine years old. Unless this was some kind of trick, it was the best reward she could’ve hoped for.

  She fought to hide her building excitement. Could she use this trip to the village to escape? Her stepmother would have to release the entrapment spells, and she could certainly outrun her stepsisters.

  It would mean leaving without Max, and never returning to the home her real parents had shared, but she was ready. As soon as they were out of sight of the house, she’d ditch her stepsisters and escape.

  Cinderella drew in a breath of the fresh spring air. The scent of wildflowers and damp earth compounded her joy. In just minutes, she’d be walking through the iron gate at the end of the path and would be on the road to the village. Excitement churned inside her and she almost felt as if she could fly.

  Outside in the daylight, the sun felt so warm on her arms and face—much better than it did when it was filtered through a thick windowpane.

  She looked back at the house she’d lived in her whole life. It had been so much cheerier when the shutters were painted butter-yellow instead of black, but she’d still cherish her few good memories: her father tickling her and telling her how her laugh was just like her mother’s, the day she’d found Max in the garden, and the fun times she and her cat had practicing her ninja skills—even on the days when her training sessions had made her muscles ache and scream in pain.

  With the thought of pain, ugly memories attempted to overtake the good but she refused to let them win. Today, nothing would spoil her mood. Today she’d escape.

  “Oh, girls,” her stepmother called as they reached the gate.

  Dread filled Cinderella’s belly as she turned to see her stepmother at the front door, her wand raised high in the air. She knew this moment had been coming. The trip to the village had been too much to hope for. She wouldn’t be going to the village as a young woman. Instead, her stepmother would send her as a donkey, a cow, maybe even a rat.

  Cinderella braced herself as her stepmother flicked her wand, then looked down at her clothing and body to see what spell her stepmother had cast.

  Same torn apron, same navy blue skirt with its frayed hem that no amount of mending could repair, same threadbare linen blouse. She grasped at her hair—still there—and tentatively pulled a piece around to check the color. Still blonde. Was it possible her stepmother hadn’t cast a spell?

  “Have a good time,” her stepmother called out. The woman’s cheery voice made Cinderella feel as if she could’ve been knocked over by a speck of dust.

  She opened the gate and her stepsisters walked through. Expecting a strong wind, or an invisible wall, or a pit of quicksand to stop her, Cinderella held her breath and took a long s
tep through the gate.

  But no pain struck, so she rubbed her hands over her arms, patted her neck, and ran her fingers through her hair. Nothing. She was outside the property’s grounds, on the road to the village. It didn’t seem possible.

  Feeling giddy, she started to skip down the path. “Come on,” she called back to Gwendolyn and Agatha. “Hurry up, slowpokes.” A little company might be fun for the first part of the trip. It would be best to wait until she was farther from the house before making her escape.

  Agatha started forward, a skip in her step, too, but Gwendolyn grabbed her sister and held her back. Gwen stood still and then crossed her arms over the pink velvet fabric of the dainty jacket she wore over her deep red dress.

  Cinderella paused for a second. Let them dawdle if they wanted to. Escape would be even easier than she’d expected. Her heart was so filled with joy, she thought it might burst.

  Skipping forward, she kicked a pebble in her way, and then leaped into the air and spun in two full circles before landing. Freedom felt great. Freedom felt wonderful. Freedom was even better than that tiny crumb of chocolate Agatha had secretly passed to her one winter day.

  Freedom was—burning!

  “Aah!” Cinderella cried as smoke suddenly wafted off her fingertips, flames licked the edges of her slippers, and the already-frayed hem of her skirt smoldered as if she’d stepped too close to the fire while heating the bathwater.

  Cinderella staggered back a few steps and the burning stopped, but her nostrils filled with the acrid scent of smoldering fibers.

  She spun toward her sisters. Agatha’s eyes were wide with alarm and she ran toward Cinderella, but Gwendolyn sauntered forward slowly, a grin on her face that closely matched the one her mother had worn earlier. Cinderella’s hope and happiness iced over.

  “That will teach you,” Gwendolyn said when she got closer.

  Agatha turned toward her sister. “What happened?”

  “Mother knew Cinderella was too foolish to be trusted off the property.” Gwendolyn’s evil grin was even more terrifying up close. “These woods are dangerous, Cinderella,” she said in a pedantic tone. “Stay close. There are thieves and wolves everywhere.”

  Cinderella squared her stance. “The wolves only come out at night.”

  “True,” Gwendolyn said, “but they’re only one of many dangers lurking in this forest. A girl like you, with no experience, no magic, no way to defend yourself, you can’t be running off on your own. You’d never survive.” Gwendolyn touched Cinderella’s arm, pretending she actually cared, but her hand was cold and heavy.

  Cinderella shrugged it off.

  “Mother cast a little spell to protect you, that’s all.” Gwendolyn continued to sport a most disingenuous smile.

  “Protect me? I nearly caught on fire!”

  “Yes, and if you get more than fifty feet from either of us, you’ll start smoldering again. More than a hundred feet and you’ll burst completely into flames.”

  Agatha raised a hand to her mouth to cover a gasp, but Cinderella only stared at Gwendolyn, her rage fuming in her eyes. She should have known that total freedom was too much to expect.

  Apparently she wouldn’t be escaping today—not unless she wanted to burst into flames. She stomped along behind her stepsisters, but soon realized it was no use moping. Even if today’s escape hopes were dashed, she could still enjoy the way the sun filtered through the leaves, and how the blue jays and cardinals battled for territory in the treetops.

  She kept track of more important details, too. Even if she couldn’t escape, it would help to know which trees had branches low enough to jump onto, which areas had thicker or thinner underbrush, which sections of the forest were riddled with poison oak.

  About half a mile from the house, she heard the sound of a brook through the trees and her breath quickened as memories of her father flooded in. The summer before he died, he’d taken her to that brook, they’d thrown rocks into the water, and she had delighted at the plopping sound as each stone hit. She had been four years old at the time.

  Gathering strength and love from the memory, a warm feeling flowed through her, and she reached up to the branch of an apple tree bending over the path. Her hand singed the leaf.

  She spun around and saw that her stepsisters had opened up a gap and were now fifty feet ahead of her on the road. Gwendolyn was laughing. Next to her, Agatha stared at the ground. Gwendolyn set off at a run, and Cinderella had no choice but to race to catch up. Who knew Gwen was capable of moving so quickly?

  Within a few long strides, Cinderella had passed Agatha, and as she continued to chase Gwendolyn, she started to worry that there might not be any way to win this sadistic game. If Gwen had been right about the parameters of the spell, the smoldering would start as soon as she was fifty feet from either sister, so if Agatha couldn’t keep up, it wouldn’t matter if Cinderella caught up with Gwen, the faster and meaner of the two.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Agatha had figured out this little detail as well, and didn’t want to witness her stepsister become engulfed in flames.

  Agatha was dressed in a heavy lavender velvet skirt, under which she wore about twenty layers of crinoline over hoops. She struggled clumsily as she tried to close the distance, but Gwendolyn showed no signs of slowing.

  Cinderella stopped and gestured for Agatha to hurry. If she carried her, at least she’d only have to worry about keeping up with Gwen. Agatha tried to pick up her pace, caught up with Cinderella, and bent over, gasping from the effort.

  “Hop on my back,” Cinderella said, turning and bending down to indicate that she planned to give Agatha a piggyback ride.

  Agatha looked horrified. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s not dignified. What if someone should—” She stopped short as Cinderella’s dress started to smolder at the hem.

  Cinderella spun to see that Gwen had stopped, too, and was bent over, panting, but kept her eyes closely on Cinderella. Each time Cinderella took a step forward, dragging the out-of-breath Agatha with her, Gwendolyn took another step back, keeping Cinderella right on the fringes of smoke.

  “Please,” Cinderella said, appealing to Agatha with her outstretched arms. She saw something in her stepsister’s face that she never saw when Gwen was around. It was a speck of sympathy, a crumb of regret, an ounce of apology.

  Cinderella turned again, bent down to offer her back, and this time Agatha hopped on. Cinderella tucked her arms under Agatha’s legs and ran toward Gwen.

  Gwen straightened up and opened her mouth as if to yell at Agatha, whose arms and legs were clamped around Cinderella’s chest and belly like the hoop on a barrel. But instead of shouting at her sister, Gwen turned and resumed running.

  Cinderella did her best to close the distance between them, but as slender as Agatha was, she was at least seven inches taller than Cinderella and twenty pounds heavier—with at least half of those pounds coming from her dress. Yet Cinderella had no choice. She had to keep up. If she didn’t catch Gwendolyn, she’d go up in flames, and that was a thought too horrible to contemplate.

  She would not give up and burn. And she wouldn’t give up her plans for escape, either. Even if her stepmother’s tales of the world’s dangers were true, even if she were attacked by wolves or robbed by thieves, or even if she were simply unable to find work or shelter or enough to eat, at least she’d have tried. At least she wouldn’t die a victim of her stepmother’s and stepsisters’ cruelty. At least she’d have done something to make her life better.

  A man dropped from the trees and landed directly in front of Gwendolyn, who stopped in her tracks and screamed, “Aah! Thief !”

  Cinderella could clearly see this was no thief, yet a man dropping out of the forest could not be a good thing. Gwendolyn ran away from the man and sprinted back to hide behind Cinderella, who tried to let Agatha down from her back, but the girl’s grip was so tight, Cinderella no longer needed to hold her legs.

  But assuming this man planned
to rob them, she couldn’t mount a defense with someone literally holding her back, so she tried to shake Agatha off.

  From his size and gait, the man was young and he slowly walked toward them, hands up, palms forward. She’d never seen a thief, but this man looked more like a hunter, dressed as he was in a leather vest over a shirt only partially tucked into well-worn leather breeches. He had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung across his broad chest.

  She stared in recognition. The messenger? “That’s not a thief,” she said to Gwendolyn, and then walked toward the man.

  Agatha squeaked, let go of her death grip on Cinderella, and slipped to the path behind her. Cinderella didn’t even turn to see whether Agatha had landed on her feet.

  “It’s you,” she said to the royal messenger, who was easily recognizable. His unruly blond curls were loose and caught the patches of sunlight that broke through the leaves above. “You’re a hunter and a messenger?” She imagined the freedom.

  He bowed to her and smiled broadly.

  “Cinderella,” Gwendolyn yelled in a scolding tone, “you stupid girl! Why are you talking to that villain? I’m sure the rest of his gang will be here any minute and we’ll be robbed and killed.”

  “If we’re robbed and killed, we can’t go to the ball,” Agatha said, her voice quavering.

  Both Cinderella and the young man rolled their eyes at the same time and then started to laugh.

  It was time to put her stepsisters out of their terror. She turned to the messenger. “I’ll tell them who you—”

  The messenger held a finger in front of his lips to silence her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Mischievous, a little mysterious, but not dangerous. No way did he mean them harm. “I’d rather stay incognito,” he said.

  Cinderella wondered why and then smiled.“If people know you work at the palace, do they ask a lot of questions about the ball and which girl you think the prince might choose?”

  “Um, yes,” he replied. “You could say that.” He nodded slowly, as if thinking about it.

  Gwendolyn, clearly deciding that the danger had passed, was stomping toward them, pulling Agatha behind her. The messenger turned to the two sisters and bowed, his hat shading his face. “I’m not a thief, but a simple hunter. I do apologize for startling you lovely ladies.”