Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  "Yes."

  Smiling broadly, he pressed his palm to the thin ice. After a moment, it began to melt, cold water running down his arm. One crack appeared, then another.

  Then the ice shattered, and he caught his little girl, cradling her in his arms. She stared up at him, eyes full of her mother's coldness and disinterest, but all he could see was their color, the same olive-green as the leaves of the trees back home.

  "She can remain here," the Snow Queen said, as if she were discussing a small pet. "You can keep your life."

  He shook his head. "She's going home."

  "Suit yourself," she said, and in front of him she opened a Door.

  He stepped through without even a goodbye, thrilled to feel the sun on his face again. The heavy clothes he'd gotten from the Snow Queen suddenly felt far too confining, and he set his daughter down long enough to peel out of several layers. During this, she toddled a few steps away, looking around.

  He grinned. “You're home, sweetheart. This is Faerietale. Come on.” He picked her up, carrying her towards the palace. Along the way he told her stories of her uncle and her grandmother, of the King and two Queens who ruled the land.

  And with each step he took away from the Door, his memory of the Snow Queen faded a little more. Until he reached the palace doors, and his mother flew out to greet him, to ask where he'd been, to tell him that she'd feared he was dead, did he realize how long he'd been gone? Then she looked to the tiny girl in his arms, and asked who this was, her voice gentling.

  "She's my daughter," he said. And that was all he knew.

  ***

  One of the seamstresses for the harem took a liking to the little girl, and fashioned her all sorts of clothes. For reasons he couldn't describe, he hated to see her in blue or white or silver. Accepting this request, she made the girl brightly colored outfits, all in warm colors, and then accentuated them with a beautiful soft red cloak.

  "There you are," he said, looking at the wide, beautiful eyes that stared up at him from under the red hood. "Little Red." A warm name, warm appearance, for someone who would grow up only seeing snow a handful of times.

  ***

  Less than a year later, Rudolf's life was taken out in the forest he loved so much. The tracker who found him and buried him spoke of a hunting accident, an unknown assailant's arrow, but there had been no such weapon in his body. Instead, there had been multitudes of bees, their glittering white stingers melting into the tiny wounds in his skin.

  The tracker claimed a hunting accident, because he had no way to explain the bees, the horrific scream that had twisted Rudolf's face in death, or how a man could freeze to death in the middle of summer.

  "He could've had a Queen, you know."

  Beauty opened her eyes, blinking wearily. She'd been struck oddly sleepless last night, and had only gotten to sleep after the moon was starting to set. She was half-certain she was merely hallucinating the stranger's voice out of exhaustion. "What?"

  "I said, he could've had a Queen."

  And then the stranger peered inside her small home, beautiful face framed by a red cloak, and the last of Beauty's tiredness vanished in a burst of fright. "What are you doing here?"

  "They thought they were so stealthy, but I watched them. I saw. I saw everything that went on in that palace," she continued quietly, as if Beauty had never spoken. "Come with me. Now."

  Seeing no other choice-- the only thing she had that might serve as a weapon was her wood-cutting hatchet, and it was on the other side of the clearing-- she got to her feet and carefully moved to the doorway.

  The other woman looked her over. "Now he's stuck with you. That's what he gets for being a coward. If he'd just stayed, if he'd been strong enough to accept what's necessary to rule, then who knows where he might be now. I wouldn't," she said, as Beauty tried to take advantage of her apparent distraction to edge toward the hatchet. "Come on."

  They moved away from the weapon, further into the forest, and Beauty debated about the merits of screaming. If Wolf was around, if anyone else who might care to help her was around, then surely they would've come out by now.

  And if no one was here, she thought, did she really want to call them? A woman who could bring down a wolf pack-- what chance did a man have against that?

  "Mother Miriam still writes to him," she said, as she continued to walk. "Still cares about him. I have done everything," she said, and though her voice was still mild, still conversational, Beauty suddenly realized that there was a deep rage there, and she froze, wanted nothing more than to find somewhere to hide. "I've kept this land safe. Kept her safe. But she still writes to him."

  Beauty tried to swallow, her throat dry. She might be able to handle being taken for money, something impersonal, but this . . . even if Little Red got what she wanted out of this, Beauty doubted very much that she would let her out of here alive. "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to show him what happens to cowards," she said, idly fondling the handle of a large, horrible-looking blade. "Get in."

  She almost asked 'get into what', and then she forced her gaze away from the other woman. She'd been so focused on her, so intent on watching her for any sign of her actually drawing that knife that she hadn't looked around at all. A short distance away, on a lightly-beaten path, stood a chestnut horse. Behind the horse was a wooden carriage.

  She knew that type of carriage. Every so often Carnival Men would drive into Villages, pulling along some terribly deformed person or animal, asking for money in exchange for the villagers getting close. For a few dimes extra, rocks could be thrown. "No. Listen, you don't--"

  "I gave an order. You can get in whole or you can get in bloody."

  "Wait," Beauty said, though she backed towards the open door of the cage. "You-- you're upset that you think he's a coward, all right, but if he does come to get me then you won't have a reason to be mad anymore. That'll prove he's brave. Right?"

  "It'll be too little, too late."

  And Little Red locked the door. Then she got on the horse, kicking its sides, and the horse took off, throwing Beauty off her feet. Clinging to the thick bars of the cage, she looked out at the silent forest.

  Let her be right, she thought, hoping that somehow her thoughts could reach him, could tell him to stay back. Just this once, be a coward.

  ***

  "That really used to be a person?"

  "Can it talk?"

  "It can," Little Red said. "Come closer, it might say something to you."

  The man approached, and Little Red held out her hand. He dropped a copper coin into it and then picked up a stick. "Hey," he said, jabbing her in the side. "Hey! You talk?"

  Beauty pressed her lips together. She wanted to scream at him, at all of them, tell them to go away, but they stared at her with curious, malicious eyes and wanted her to talk for them and so she'd decided she wouldn't.

  But there was a stronger reason for her to be silent. Wolf had been drawn to her by her voice once before. She knew he might not be nearby, but she still felt almost supernaturally certain that if she spoke, he would appear.

  Most people in the Village, at least, were still working or in their homes. Only about ten or fifteen people were out here, staring at her and surrounding her cage, but that would be more than enough if they picked up rocks.

  "Hey!" Another jab. "Told you to say something!"

  Little Red sighed. "Well. It's been over an hour. Suppose he's not coming for you after all. Next time I clearly need better bait." She smiled up at her. "Which means it's time for you and I to--"

  The villager stepped between them, face dark with anger. "You! It won't talk and I want my money back!"

  "Certainly," Little Red told him, holding out the copper coin. "Feel free to take it."

  The man started to reach out, and the word was out before Beauty could think. "Don't!"

  Red smiled. "Do you really think I need to take hold of his hand to have my fun?"

  And the man was backing
away now but Beauty knew that wouldn't matter, that in a second or two he'd have a knife in his throat and she opened her mouth to scream, to tell them to run, they weren't the most pleasant sort but they didn't deserve what Red was going to do to them, and then there was another voice, from the forest.

  "Red!"

  And as it always did, her heart sped up at the knowledge he was near, but this time out of terror rather than pleasure. She could see him now, a silhouette at the edge of the trees.

  "Let her go!"

  Little Red laughed, a trilling, happy sound that made Beauty's hands shake. "Come and get her, uncle."

  "No!" she screamed. "Just get out of here! Go!" He met her eyes, and she pressed closer to the bars, wishing she could think of anything to tell him that would matter, that would make him listen. "Please," she said quietly.

  And instead of striding forward as she'd feared, he disappeared back into the forest.

  Beauty closed her eyes, smiling as she quickly rubbed a tear away. Thank Scheherazade.

  Little Red paced in front of the tree line, knife out and screaming. "Come out! I know you still hear my voice! You've been running from this fight for years, uncle! If you run again now I'll cut out her heart! I'll--"

  The villager closest to Red let out a sharp cry of fear as a huge gray wolf erupted out of the trees, colliding with Little Red and knocking her to the ground. The man who'd cried out ran, as did most of the others, but one villager ran forward, seeing only the beast snapping at the throat of the young woman, not the full truth of the matter, and he gave the wolf a swift kick to the head as he fumbled to draw his knife from its sheath.

  Before he could draw his weapon, the now-free Red flung her own blade into his heart. "Sorry," she hissed as she drew another blade. "But this one's mine."

  They circled each other, the Wolf's fangs bared in a snarl, Red smiling sweetly. "So tell me," she said. "Does the curse stay in place after you're dead? I do hope so; I would dearly love to hang your head on my wall. And that fur would make a fine coat." She flung her blade and though Wolf dodged quickly, it still grazed his side enough to draw a thick line of blood.

  "Hm. Might have to make a couple of repairs first," Red said, drawing and flinging another knife within the space of an eye's blink.

  Beauty gritted her teeth, trying in vain to twist herself somehow to fit through the bars. She just couldn't manage; the malformed hump on her back was too wide. Cursing, she rattled the bars, then kicked them. If she was going to look like an animal, at least she could be given one's strength.

  Red's laughter had her looking up again, and she saw that Wolf was limping now, trying to back away as he attempted to shake a thick shard of glass out of his paw.

  "I put them all over," Red said, gesturing around at the concealing dusty ground.

  Shrieking her fury at Red, calling her names that her mother had certainly never taught her, Beauty aimed another kick at the bars. Not even a crack.

  Then a glint of familiar silver/white caught her eye and she looked up, seeing a new figure at the forest's edge, a horrified look on her wrinkled face.

  Beauty returned her gaze to the fight. Surprise had been the only weapon Wolf truly had against an enemy like this, and the villager had stolen that advantage. Now Red was simply toying with him and they both knew it. He had been cut again by one of her knives, and now the blade she held wasn't another slim throwing piece, but an enormous dagger. A killing knife.

  "Miriam!" Beauty cried. "Mother Miriam, please!"

  She reached back, took hold of the comb-- and was finally able to yank it out of her hair. Her first impulse told her to pitch it away, throw the wretched thing and run, go into the forest because surely Wolf would follow, wouldn't keep fighting if she was free and safe--

  And then she felt the comb growing warmer, almost burning in her hand at the same instant she heard a pained yelp. She saw blood pouring from Wolf's side, drawn by the small, wickedly sharp blade protruding from the toe of Red's boot.

  "You like it?" she asked, her grin wide and terrifying now. "The Queen's idea. I'll have to thank her. You should thank her, too. Won't last long now. Not nearly long enough to live through all the things I've been wanting to do to you."

  Beauty shoved herself through the bars and hit the ground hard. She scrambled to her feet and ran forward, as Little Red kicked Wolf again and then raised the dagger.

  With a triumphant scream, she started to bring the weapon down, and then Beauty stabbed the comb into her hair.

  Red reared back, howling in fury as she clawed at the comb. Even as she whirled on Beauty, swinging the blade, she was shriveling.

  Beauty's feet tangled in her skirt as she tried to dodge back, and she abruptly found herself eye-to-eye with Little Red as the other young woman continued to shrink, her skin becoming papery and brittle, one hand reaching out towards her, fingers hooked into claws, rage burning from lidded eyes.

  The thing she'd turned into was smaller than the knife she'd wielded just a moment before, and Beauty crawled around her and knelt at Wolf's side.

  She wanted to say so much-- thank him; tell him that she'd tried to get him to stay back and why hadn't he listened; tell him she loved him; tell him as soon as he got better she was going to lecture him for a year-- but all she managed was a sob as she stroked the ruff of fur around his neck, one of the few places where he seemed uninjured.

  A pair of booted feet came into her view, and she looked up to see Mother Miriam. "You can help him?"

  "Of course I can. This is nothing," she said, and Beauty might've recoiled at the witch's coldness if she hadn't caught a flash of grief and pain in her eyes as she leaned over her transformed son.

  From behind them came an enraged, mewling hiss. Mother Miriam didn't turn. "There'll be time enough for you in a moment, young lady," she said.

  Her irises glowed then, a bright ice-blue. Beauty had seen it once before, just before she'd slid the cursed comb into her hair. She'd never thought she would be grateful to see it again.

  As the puncture wounds in his side faded, and the cuts sealed themselves back up, the very blood that stained the ground disappeared. Beauty managed to hold herself still as her Wolf gingerly got to his feet, and then she threw her arms around his neck, her tears dampening fur that was no longer wet with blood.

  ***

  "Thank you," Beauty said quietly, finally turning to Mother Miriam after Wolf had disappeared into the woods. "For breaking the curse early. I know I wasn't ready to look like this again on my own, and--"

  "Child, you never would've looked like that again left to your own devices. Every single one of us has enough bad in us to frighten passerby were it to show on the outside. But you got rid of enough of it."

  "Oh." She glanced off toward the woods. She knew he'd gone to change back to his true form-- or second form? Which one was true in a case like his?-- and would most likely listen to the verdict Mother Miriam would hand down to her granddaughter from the shelter of the trees.

  She looked briefly to Little Red-- what remained of her, half-shadowed by the deep crimson cloak draped over her shrunken form-- and then back at the woods.

  "Beauty?"

  "Hm?" she asked, quickly turning to Mother Miriam.

  "I don't require your presence anymore, if there's somewhere you'd rather be."

  She felt her face grow warm-- had her thoughts really been that easy to guess? Such a thing wasn't ladylike at all, really-- and then something rather miraculous happened: Mother Miriam smiled.

  "I was young once, you know." She waved her hand towards the forest. "Go."

  The girl didn't need any more convincing than that, and all but ran into the woods.

  Miriam's smile faded then, and she sat down next to her granddaughter. "So," she said quietly. "Can you still speak, child?"

  "Yes," Little Red hissed.

  "And I suppose by now you've guessed what that comb is. I told you tales of it when you were a little girl. Remember? Citizens used to de
cide Rulers with it," she said, stroking a finger across the enchanted object. "Whoever retained most of their original appearance when the comb possessed them, they knew that man or woman was the most decent."

  "You knew what I was before this curse."

  "I know what you are," Miriam said quietly. "Not what you can be. You can still turn back from this, Red."

  Little Red nodded, the motion looking dangerous with her newly oversized head and too-slender neck. "I know," she said. "And I want to. I'm sorry, Mother Miriam. I'm so sorry. If you just change me back then I promise I--"

  "I'm old, but not a fool," Miriam said. "Next time try not to lay it on with a trowel, dear."

  Her granddaughter narrowed her eyes and bared what remained of her teeth. Miriam sighed, moving Little Red's remaining three throwing knives, the dagger, and the weaponized boots away from her. "Come on," she said, gingerly picking her up and placing her into the cage where Beauty had so recently been imprisoned. After double-checking the cloak, shirt, and pants for any more dangerous items, she tossed them in, too.

  For the next several moments Mother Miriam was silent, placing the necessary enchantments on the cage. Beauty had grown stronger during her time in the woods, yes, but she was still a simple peasant girl, not a warrior. Whereas Beauty had kicked out and only harmed her own foot, Red would kick and shatter the wooden bars into splinters.

  Finally, her task was done. She closed her eyes, concentrating, and then looked up at Little Red. "Take it out."

  A gnarled hand reached up, clawing at the comb, tugging it out of the remaining tufts of hair. As it fell out Little Red returned, tall and beautiful once more, and she kicked the comb out of her prison with a sneer of disgust.

  "So what now?" Little Red asked, tugging her clothes back on and then pulling the red cloak around her with the grace of a Queen adjusting her robes. "You would sentence your own grandchild to death?"

  "And you would spill your own uncle's blood?" Miriam retorted. "After that, and after the little stunt you pulled in the Shadow Realm, I should give you the harshest sentence."