Fairytales Slashed, Volume 2

by Megan Derr

  "But it's just as possible the bitch would have cursed him, too, or killed him, and then we would be in the very same position, if not a worse one," Snow White finished.

  "Precisely," Calder said. "I may yet have some friends to send for help, but I would prefer to have more to tell them, to tell the magic user who will demand all the information they can provide. I do not want someone walking into this blindly, only to be killed or cursed immediately upon arrival. I should have gone for help myself, before this mess go the point it is now. All those deaths…" He bowed his head, ashamed and grief-stricken.

  A warm hand rested against his cheek. "You're helping by resisting her, by keeping her appeased," Snow White said gently. "You do not see it, but her eyes follow you. I think the cold Queen is fond of her Huntsman. She is…more generous with you, than with the others. I think you alone keep her from doing worse. Also, Cal, you are the only one right now who can get close enough to kill her, once we know how to do that."

  "Witches must be burned," Calder said. "If any part of a magic user remains then she, or at least her magic, still remains. But I am not strong enough to incapacitate her and see her burned alive. It took more than twenty men to bring down the Bloody Beauty, not to mention all the other witches and wizards burned alive in the Blood & Magic wars."

  "We will find a way," Snow White said. "In the mean time, you had better go, before she realizes you are here with me."

  Calder nodded reluctantly, kissed her cheek, then stood and departed.

  Outside, he sighed softly, feeling so much older than his age. Then he rolled his shoulders, squared them, and made his way back out of the castle. Whatever the problems, the castle still had to function, had to manage its day to day affairs. The world did not stop for a crisis. That meant food, and as Huntsman it was his duty to bring down the game the castle required to feed its inhabitants.

  So off he went, back to the warmth and safety of his forest, taking down the deer and boar the forest said he may. Then he secured and marked the carcasses for servants to fetch and haul back to the castle. By the time he finished, it was late afternoon.

  Returning to the castle, he slipped into the kitchens and forced himself to eat. He only managed a few bites, but it was better than nothing. Then he sent a kitchen boy to fetch a set of fresh clothes from his room in the castle, before striding out to the kitchen yards. At one of the wells, he pulled up buckets of water and dumped them into a small tub. Then he stripped down and, taking a small bar of rough soap from a box meant to hold such things, he scrubbed himself down. Overhead, the late afternoon sunlight was warm enough to take away the worst of the chill caused by the well water.

  He ran his hands over his tattoos, thinking wistfully of Goulet, wishing there was a way to speak to his friend, if only for the simple comfort of having a friend. The tattoos also reminded him of the dwarves, and his last happy day before everything had begun to go so horribly wrong. Had that only been a few weeks ago? It seemed years ago now.

  Gods, would he give anything to go back to those days, where his greatest trial had been stripping down to dive into the lake to retrieve the dwarves' boat. He never thought there would come a day where he thought fondly of their lewd jokes.

  The tug of the Queen's summons came just as he was dumping a final bucket of water over himself to rinse away the last of the soap. The brief good mood obtained from a hard day of honest work, and the happy memories, vanished like sunshine behind storm clouds.

  He did not bother to properly dry off, only tugged on his clothes. They clung uncomfortably, damp and cold, but he could not be bothered to truly care. Taking one of the sets of backstairs, he climbed swiftly to the second floor, then down the hall, knocking three times on the door of the Queen's Chambers.

  "My Huntsman," she greeted when he entered, half-turning slowly from where she stood by the great, floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of her enormous bedchamber.

  Thank the gods she was dressed this time, he thought, though her breasts looked poised to spill over the top of her stiff, tightly laced bodice. She was dressed in violet, black, and gold, the fabrics of a sort only a Queen could afford. Costly jewels dripped from her ears, throat, wrists, and fingers, a kingdom's wealth contained in sparkling gems. All the colors made of her hair a livid red, like fresh blood lit by firelight.

  Only Snow White was more beautiful, he could not help but think. All the more because she had come by her beauty naturally, honestly.

  "My Queen," he said, kneeling before her and kissing the offered hand. "Have I pleased thee?" he asked, putting a tone of begging, eager plea into his voice.

  She smiled like a cat with the blood of a mouse still fresh on her lips. "Yes, my Huntsman. You have pleased me most well. Your reward is imminent…but it will be all the greater should you do one small thing for me."

  Calder kissed her hand again, and interjected into his voice all the love and lust and want and need he had ever felt for Lev, "My Queen, I wish only to please you."

  She freed her hand, and urged him to rise, then pulled him to stand alongside her at the large windows. Pulling back the dark drapes, she motioned for him to look at what lay below.

  Her windows, he realized, looked into the private royal gardens. His blood turned cold, and a knot of dread and fear filled his stomach, as he saw that Snow White walked in the gardens below, surrounded by her hand maidens. She was smiling, laughing, acting as all girls her age are want, but he could see she knew the Queen watched. She was probably aware of many things; the Princess was no one's fool.

  "The Princess is a danger to me," the Queen said, putting the faintest hint of pout into her lips. "Her existence pains me. I cannot bear to see her live another day, for fear of my own life. Do you understand, my Huntsman? She is a danger to me. She must be killed."

  "My Queen," Calder replied. "I live to serve you. Only command me and your will be done."

  "I know," she purred, stroking his cheek with fingers that felt like the skin of a serpent. Then she turned away from him, strode to a small table made of ebony and topped with dark, smoky glass. On it rested a small box made of iron, the clasps on the front of it encrusted with dark rubies. The top was carved with a strange symbol, or perhaps it was symbols, that he did not recognize. But then, all that he knew, he had learned from Lev, beyond the simple asking and telling of his forest.

  She handed the box to him, and Calder obediently took it. The box felt heavy in his hands, heavier than he though even a box made of iron should be—but perhaps his own guilty and fear added a weight of its own to the terrible box.

  "Take the Princess for a walk, deep into your forest, my Huntsman. Take her so deep and so far, no man or creature or spirit will ever find her. Then kill her. Carve out her heart, put the heart into this box, and return the box to me. Do you understand?"

  He did not know how he managed to hide his hate, his revulsion, his overwhelming desire to kill her. All he wanted to do was draw his sword and shove it through her gut, or pull his dagger and slash her throat wide open. Those methods would not work, however, not on so powerful a witch. Only that knowledge, coupled with fear for Snow White, stayed his hand. "I understand, my Queen. No threat against your life shall continue to live. Into the deepest, darkest part of the forest will I take her, and her heart I shall bring to you."

  "Go, then," the Queen commanded. "Do this for me, my Huntsman, and this night you shall sleep in my bed, in my arms."

  "My Queen," Calder breathed, kissing the back of her hand, mouth lingering an extra heartbeat.

  Then she dismissed him, and Calder nearly wept with relief to be free of her. Oh, gods, her bed…he would never survive that.

  But, he realized, he would never survive to reach that point. He could not, would not, kill the Princess, and whatever deception he contrived would not fool the Queen for very long. All he could do now, he thought with resignation, was stall so that someone else might seek the help he had failed to get when he'd had the chance.

&n
bsp; Fighting down the despair and panic, he stood and breathed deeply, slowly, until he felt more or less calm again. Then he forced himself to think, shutting out all else. One problem at a time. One step at a time.

  The first step, of course, was to get the Princess to safety. Thankfully, the Queen herself was providing him the perfect opportunity. At least this one small thing worked to his favor.

  Rather than the garden, however, he went first to his own spare bedroom in the castle. Mostly he spent his days and nights in the forest, but upon occasion he was required to spend the night in the castle proper.

  From a trunk full of supplies and other such miscellany, he pulled out a pouch that was of the perfect size and strength to bear the weight of the iron box. Placing the box in the pouch, he then affixed the pouch to his belt, letting it rest at his backside.

  Then he checked all his weapons, restlessly adjusted his damp clothing. His fingers brushed over the heavy pendant beneath his shirt, and he pulled it out. Looking at it, chest twisting painfully, he brushed his thumb over the jewels, three still glittering and one dark and cracked. He lifted the pendant to his mouth, kissed it softly. "I love you, Lev. Somehow, I hope this pendant finds its way back to you when I am gone."

  Hiding the pendant away again beneath his clothing, he finally made his way out of the castle and to the royal gardens. "Princess," he greeted, taking the hand she extended and squeezing it gently. "I saw you walking and thought you might enjoy a stroll in the forest."

  "That sounds splendid, Huntsman," Snow White replied while her hand maidens blushed and giggled and exchanged looks.

  Once, the King and Snow White had loved to tease him about all that the men and women of the castle said and whispered about the quiet, elusive, rugged Huntsman. Now, he could see that Snow White shared his bone-deep weariness and fear. Finding humor in anything was simply too difficult at the moment.

  Dismissing her hand maidens, Snow White slipped her arm through his and walked with him away from the castle and into the forest. Neither spoke until they were well away from the castle and deep into the forest, no hint of anything but trees and wildlife surrounding them.

  Then, Snow White asked, "What is wrong, Cal?"

  "The Queen has ordered me to kill you, then to carve out your heart and deliver it to her."

  Snow White surprised him by saying only, "I see."

  "You sound as though you expected to hear this," Cal said.

  "Nothing so gruesome, though I cannot say that surprises me either," Snow White replied. "She smirked at me this morning, and offered me a bite of one of her precious apples. I knew then she had learned something, and meant to kill me."

  "Why did you not tell me?"

  "I had not been able to yet. Even if you had not been in the forest most of the day, she has been watching my every movement. I dare not risk it to go and find you. So do you have a plan?"

  Calder fought a sudden urge to start laughing. A plan. He wished had that much control over the situation. "For the moment, Princess, my only plan is to take you to safety. I obviously cannot risk leaving you in the castle any longer."

  Snow White nodded, and did not argue him, though he had been braced for it. "All right. The dwarves?"

  "Yes," Calder replied, and managed to dredge up a brief smile. "Make certain you smack them every time they say something inappropriate."

  That drew out a laugh, as he had hoped it would. "Then I would not be able to do anything else."

  "They had better behave," Calder muttered. Or he would tie rocks to their little feet and toss them in the lake. Though, really, if they made her happy for even a brief time, he did not care that they did it with their crude humor.

  The two of them made good time, Snow White almost as comfortable in the forest as he, from spending her childhood sneaking off to see him in the forest whenever she managed to slip her nurses—which was often. He hoped it would serve her well, now, while she hid here until it was safe to return.

  They heard the dwarves before they saw them, raucous and laughing and happy as sever, though he knew they were as worried as he. "You had better be dressed!" he bellowed, and rolled his eyes at their shouted replied.

  Then they were in the clearing, a massive field largely overtaken by the sturdy cabin and workshop of the Seven Dwarves of Blodwen Forest. As one, Mick, Davie, Travis, Jon, Rich, Nick, and Bertie all swept the Princess an elegant bow.

  "Princess," said Mick, the Professor. "I am sorry for all that you are suffering. We will guard you with our lives."

  Snow White nodded and said quietly, "I hope your lives are not the price I must pay to keep my own, wise Dwarves. Thank you for generosity."

  "Highness," the others said, and led her away while the Professor lingered to speak with Calder.

  "What are you going to do?" Professor asked gruffly, eyes dark and knowing.

  "Die, I suspect," Calder replied bluntly, surprisingly calm about it. "I cannot kill her. She will not be deceived for long. I will do whatever I can to slow her, confuse her. Protect Snow White. Send someone to find a wizard." He reached up to remove his pendant, hoping it would be proof enough to win Levaughn's help. He tried to ignore the way his heart wrenched, his hand trembled, as he started to remove it. "If you take this—"

  "Keep that," Professor growled. "Do not dare try to remove that pendant, you daft man. It saved your life once, and three jewels yet remain—that is thrice more your life might be saved. I am a damned dwarf, not without power though it be little enough. I do not need your pendant to bring the wizard you have in mind. Only tell me his name and where to find him."

  "Last I heard from him, and that ten years ago, he was appointed as Royal Wizard at Castle Roseberry," Calder replied, feeling more than a little relief that he would not be parted from the pendant. "His name is Levaughn. Tell him I need his help."

  Inside the cabin, Snow White laughed. Calder flinched. "I need to go. Take care of her, damn it. Do not…do not let her cry too much, but make certain she does not hold the tears in."

  "Go, lad. I hope we see you again."

  "Goodbye," Calder said, then turned and vanished into the forest. Away from the clearing, but on the well worn path leading to the dwarves' home, he drew his dagger and slit his palm open. Turning his hand so the blood spilled upon the footpath, he said softly, "Forest, the Huntsman beseeches you, hide the Dwarves of Blodwen and the Princess they protect. Let none find the way who would do them harm. Keep it so until I bid the forest be safe once more. By my blood, let my will be done."

  Beneath his feet, the path faded away, nothing more than ordinary forest. He could not see, hear, or smell any sign of the dwarves. They were as safe as he and the forest could make them. He hoped it would be enough.

  When the magic had faded, and all seemed well, he bound his slight wound and made his way swiftly to the glade where he had hidden the body of Carol. Kneeling before the tangled ivy, he whispered softly for them to unwind. Slowly the ivy untangled, withdrawing into the ground from which it had come.

  In his capacity of Huntsman, he had killed hundreds of animals, skinned and gutted them, prepared them for feasting. He had fought and trapped and killed poachers, robbers, other men who would bring harm to the inhabitants of forest and castle. There was bloody aplenty on his hands. What he was about to do should not trouble him so much. The girl was dead, far beyond caring what became of her body.

  Still, it was almost more than he could take, as he cut her open, sliced through skin and muscle, hacked through bone, until he finally reached her heart. As he had asked, the forest had kept her unchanged. Days and even months or years could pass, and she would not change until he or the next Huntsman willed it. He wished he could let her return to the earth, but was grateful now he had this one chance to buy the Princess more time.

  Blood and gore smeared his hands and arms. Calder strove to ignore it as he put the heart in the iron box. Then he stumbled to a copse of bushes and heaved up what little food he had managed to eat, hea
ved until only his stomach itself was left to toss.

  Then he moved to the pond, clearing away as much of the moss as he could to reach relatively clean water, cleaning away the filth coating his skin, rinsing out his mouth. But even when the blood and gore were gone, he still felt dirty and disgusting.

  He glanced at his recently cut hand, and saw that the forest had at some point healed the wound. A simple kindness, and it nearly broke him.

  Moving back the bloody heart in the iron box, he opened his pouch of poisons and weighed his options. He did not favor poisons, as a rule, but there were certain creatures and situations that necessitated its use.

  None of them would kill a Witch Queen, but he hoped that one might be enough to trouble her a bit, and gain the others time to reach Levaughn.

  Poisons, poisons—he had a poison for nearly everything, it seemed at times. Poisons to subdue a unicorn without hurting it, poisons to calm some dragons, and stun others long enough to kill them. He had Basilisk venom, King Frog venom, poisons to drop fairies, poisons for sleeping, stunning, befuddling, and killing.

  One of the killing poisons seemed the best option, and he considered them carefully. Apples, he thought. Apples would do nicely. He picked up a vial of moderate size, shaking it to mix together the separated contents within. The resulting liquid was the color of apple cider, and there were many tragic tales of foolish chemists leaving the recently made poison out where children found it and drank it down.

  The worst part of it was that the poison was a dark sister to cider, an extract made from apples that no wise man would ever eat—apples unfortunately called Candy Apples. They were named for their exceedingly sweet flavor, as well as their color—a bright, glossy red that resembled a common summer candy of the same shade. It took only minutes to kill, and it killed quietly.

  How the apples came to be, no one knew. Stories abounded, each tale completely different from the previous. Attempts had been made to eradicate the trees, but they had their uses as well as their dangers, and so they were simply closely and carefully regulated.