by Dawn Steele
The old woman’s eyes were bright. Two pregnant handmaidens propped her back up with two equally pregnant pillows.
“My children.” The old woman held out her wavering arms. Several leeches dropped off.
Hansel and Gretel immediately swarmed to the old woman, devotion spilling from their gestures. Hansel clasped the old woman’s right hand while Gretel stroked her left. The handmaidens glared.
“Grandmother,” remarked one, “you shouldn’t exhaust yourself.”
“Nonsense,” the old woman said gaily. Her voice wheezed like wind in a reed. “I will always have time for my children and their little ones. Each one of you is more precious to me than my life blood itself.”
Some of that life blood was leaking out onto the white sheets, courtesy of the leeches. So this was the infamous Mother Baron. Mother to murderers, rapists and brigands. Despite her fearsome stature, Snow White could feel the warmth emanating from the old woman and the love in her eyes as she gazed upon her adopted children. She hastily swallowed the lump that was threatening to form in her throat.
Mother Baron turned her wrinkled face to Snow White. “My word, Gretel, what a treasure you’ve brought me.”
“It was actually I who found her, Mother Baron,” Hansel said.
Gretel shot him a frosty glare.
“Why are her hands tied up? Release her bonds immediately, Hansel,” the old woman said in a mock scolding tone. “She shouldn’t have to be strapped up in her new home. Come closer, child, let me see you.”
Reluctantly, Hansel did he was told. Snow White felt the twine unwinding from her chafed wrists. Someone nudged her forward.
Mother Baron smiled, showing browned teeth, of which a significant number were missing. “Ah, lovely, lovely. If my eyes have not failed me, I must say that you are by far the loveliest creature I have ever seen, my pet unicorn included. Beautiful children will spring from your womb, would you not agree, Gretel?”
Mother Baron’s breath smelled a thousand years old. Despite that, her aura up close was staggering. Snow White could feel magnetism radiating from every pore of the old woman. Mother Baron commanded attention in a way that oracles and prophets did, even more so than Queen Isobel.
“If the right father can be found,” Gretel quipped.
Snow White’s gaze lingered on the tummies of the handmaidens. She had a sudden awful premonition.
“If you may permit me, Mother Baron.” Hansel took a step forward to the dais. “I believe I am worthy to be – ”
“Hansel, I love you to bits, but it’s time to test out new blood,” Mother Baron said gaily. “The next round for you perhaps. What is your name, child?” She directed this at Snow White.
“Um,” Snow White said quickly, racking her brains, “Mantodea.”
“Mantodea.” Mother Baron made a clicking sound with her tongue. “What a strange name. Are you in any way foreign?”
“My mother’s from Lapland,” Snow White said, wondering how she came up with this stuff. “I’m on my way to meet her but I got lost. I’m sure, as a mother yourself, you’d understand what it’s like for a mother to lose her child.”
“Oh, my child, my child. No one understands loss more than I.” Mother Baron clasped Snow White’s hand. “I’ve had twenty-seven sons and thirty daughters.”
Snow White’s eyes grew round.
“All my boys were the best in what they did until they met untimely deaths. Many were hung for being robbers, though we have been blessed by the fruits of their labor.” Mother Baron swung her hand at the dazzling riches. “Others were dropped by feuds and cholera. Twenty of my daughters died in childbirth.”
Twenty! Snow White felt faint.
“Along the years, I’ve had to augment my family with lovely new children such as Gretel here, who has given me twelve healthy young ones.”
“And eight dead ones.” Gretel’s voice was wry.
“I’m getting closer to producing the Holy Grail of family quests.” Mother Baron leaned closer. “A perfect child.”
Uh oh. Snow White now understood why the women in this place appeared so worn. If they’d been impregnated every year without rest, it was no wonder their teeth had fallen off. That would be me, she thought, her heart skipping painfully, unless I do something.
“Welcome to our family, dearest,” Mother Baron said, raising Snow White’s hand to her cheek. It felt like dry paper. “You’ll be very, very happy with us.”
She turned to one her handmaidens. “Lolita, precious, bring me my extremely handsome grandsons. And Gretel, make sure Mantodea here is briefed on what must happen tonight.”
Tonight? Snow White’s hackles rose. That was way too soon. She wasn’t ready for anything. She was just sixteen! Desperately, she cast her eyes at the door, wondering if she could make a sprint for it.
“Don't even think about running,” Gretel said as she pulled Snow White away. “Mother Baron may be all coos and kisses, but I’ll just as soon chop off your legs with a wooden axe if you so much as hurt her. You don’t need legs to bear children.”
#
Snow White was bathed by three pregnant handmaidens in a tub of hot water. Steam eddies swirled in the damp air, clogging her nose. She surveyed the opulent bathroom, but could find nothing sharp to stab anyone with.
“Don’t you ever want out of this place?” she asked a handmaiden who was sponging her back. “I mean, how can you be content with changing nappies every day and bathing squalling bodies?” Myself included, she thought.
The washcloth paused above Snow White’s shoulders, dripping water onto her skin. The handmaiden seemed embarrassed.
A key turned in the lock. The door was flung wide open. Snow White immediately bunched her knees to her chest.
“Why would she ever want out?” Gretel demanded, striding in with a towel. “Her family is here, and she is beloved by all.”
“As you are, you who’ve had twenty children,” Snow White challenged.
“Is that a cause for misery?” Gretel motioned for Snow White to step out of the porcelain bathtub. She began to towel Snow White dry. “My home is here. My children are here with me. Mother Baron takes care of us all.”
In the adjoining dressing chamber, she pulled a voluminous red, black and green dress embroidered with teardrop pearls over Snow White’s head. The handmaidens fluttered around.
“But you’ve never seen the world out there,” Snow White said as Gretel ran a comb through her wet hair.
“The world out there rejected me and my brother long ago. Our own parents rejected us.” Gretchen tugged at a split end.
“Don’t blame the world for something your parents did. You’re a mother yourself. Don’t you want more for your children than this sumptuous prison?”
It was true. This village, luxury aside, was nothing but a holding pen for those who had nowhere else to go.
“Where would my children go? To the end of a rope at a gallows? You talk too much. Now come with me if you want to get fed.”
Despite her misgivings about Gretel’s cannibalistic proclivities, Snow White followed Gretel to a humungous kitchen. Several cooks wearing white aprons stirred soups and stews in deep pots. The wonderful aroma of spices filled Snow White’s nostrils. Her mouth watered as Gretel put down a clear broth flavored with herbs in front of her. Snow White took a spoonful, and did not stop until the bowl was wiped clean with the last hunk of black bread.
Gretel put down a slab of seared glazed liver on Snow White’s plate. “You need livers and red meats to bring the blood back to the insides of your eyes,” she said, dripping a thick sweet gravy with caramelized baby onions over it. “Eat this. I made it myself.”
Snow White stared at the liver.
“It’s from a goose,” Gretel said firmly.
Oh, all right then. Snow White knifed herself a slice of liver and put it on her tongue. The heavenly juices flowed through her mouth.
“Oh, wow. You’re a really, really good cook. You can have the com
mission of any royal kitchen in the world,” she said between bites, “and yet you choose to stay here.”
“You don't understand the value of love and family.” Gretel slammed a platter of mixed cheeses in front of Snow White. “Just what are you trying to do? I’m not going to move out of this village on account of you, so you can shut your mouth right there.”
When Gretel turned her back to spoon out more stew, Snow White grabbed a bread knife and hid it within the bustier of her dress, inside her cleavage. She hoped it wouldn’t slip through her cinched waist and poke the upside of her rapidly filling tummy.
Gretel turned back, her face once again made of granite. She held a chopper. Needling time over, Snow White decided. She would escape when the omens were right.
Hansel strode into the kitchen.
“Is she ready?” he said.
“As ready as any woman shall ever be,” Gretel replied.
Hansel eyed Snow White pityingly. As she got up, he nudged her elbow. “I’ll have you yet.”
“Over my dead body,” she murmured, feeling the tip of the bread knife nudge the bottom of her tie bone. She would have to remember to breathe sparsely.
“The way you’re going,” he replied, “that might be sooner than you think.”
#
Snow White ascended the tower stairs. In her voluminous skirt, she almost tripped several times.
“Don't try to jump out of the window,” Gretel warned. The carving knife she wielded was fresh from the kitchen – it still bore the blood stains and gristle of some mystery meat. “The last girl who did that caught her hair on the sill and hung herself rather painfully. Gave rise to legends of how long her hair really was.”
“Like you, she was all bravado and big words when she first came,” Hansel added. “I had her two days in. My eardrums rang so hard with her screams I had to club her senseless.”
Snow White was disgusted. She felt like ripping out the bread knife from her bodice and severing the part of Hansel responsible for causing women misery. She would relish it too. But if she were to stick to her plan, she would have to save the dicing for later. She wondered, after she’d escaped, if there was time to take a detour to ram Hansel’s horned hat into a sensitive part of his anatomy. It would be sweet retribution for what his friends did to Aein.
The area at the top of the stairs was large and divided into several chambers, all connected by a semi-circular hallway. The first door led into a parlor. The ceiling was tall and arched. Once again, the furnishings were so plush as to turn the eye, but Snow White was more concerned about how high the tower was from the ground, and if there were any torture instruments strewn around the Oriental silk divans to which she would be secured, lamb to the slaughter.
“Sit down.” Gretel motioned her to a high-backed armchair.
“I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself. The twins will be here soon enough.”
I’ll be ready for them. The sharp tip of the blade pressed uncomfortably against her waistband.
“Should we tie her up?” Hansel said. “She’s been quite a handful.”
“The twins can take care of themselves.”
Twins. Not good. There would be two of them to take apart, but not impossible. She would have to be deceptively compliant.
A tap came on the door. Snow White braced herself. She hoped they weren’t hulking brutes like Gorm, or disease-ridden pustules like Milky Eye.
“Enter,” Gretel called.
The door whined open. In walked identical twins. To Snow White’s surprise, they were incredibly beautiful human specimens – long wavy blond hair, large blue eyes, amazingly sculptured cheekbones.
They were also all of twelve years old.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She’s a native, Aein repeated to himself. You’re not supposed to get involved with natives. You’re an observer. A Judge.
And yet, Snow White’s terrified face reminded him of the poor Karsissian slave, the one who was to be raped by Dimynedon and his flunkies before he had surprised them. Aein could never stomach bullying when he saw it.
He hoped Snow White would have run off to Lapland by now. She was a strange creature, so graceless to his Sporadean eyes, yet considered – he came to understand – one of the most beautiful people alive by the Blue Planet inhabitants. Truly, it was boggling. He found her skin too pale, her eyes too plain, her features too flat, the thick mass of hair that grew on her head too unruly. Nevertheless, he sensed the goodness in her, even if it was camouflaged by her caustic tongue.
The men he was with, however, were a different herd of animals.
“You best not be lying,” Gorm growled upon his horse. “It’s already twilight and we have yet to approach this wondrous place of yours.”
“It will take several days,” Aein replied. He was also on horseback but his wrists were tethered to the reins. It was a most uncomfortable experience. The horse, a brown gelding with unshod hooves, moved up, down and sideways in sinuous and tortuous ways that made his newly formed bones protest. Aein ignored his discomfort. “I have already alluded to that fact, were you capable of listening.”
Gorm drew up his horse sharply. It neighed as it flicked its roan-colored tail. The bone-braided man turned his horse and cantered swiftly towards Aein. Clop, clop, clop, went the shod hooves of the heavy stallion. As Gorm closed in, he slammed his beefy arm into Aein’s chest like a sledgehammer, knocking Aein off his horse.
Aein tumbled to the forest ground. His wrists were still bound to the reins however. As his startled horse kicked up its heels and sprang forward, whinnying, the lower part of Aein’s body was dragged along. Tufts of grass and little stones bit into his flesh through his pants. This continued painfully for about twenty feet until Milky Eye galloped ahead to stop the runaway horse.
“You’re getting to be more trouble than you're worth,” Gorm said as Milky Eye half-dragged a bruised and bleeding Aein back.
Aein’s pants were torn at the knees and his raw skin was exposed. Little bits of grass and twine were embedded in his new wounds. His flesh stung though he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the pain. This new body was weak. How he longed for his hard carapace, which would have protected him from such rigors, and even for the one wing that hung uselessly from his back – the one that no biologist could grow a viable companion to no matter how many cells they harvested from him. The bullies here were worse than Dimynedon.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” Gorm conceded. From the darkening sky and the rumbles of the men’s soft underbellies, Aein knew that it had nothing to do with him being more trouble than he was worth.
As they built a bonfire and settled in for a meal of snared rabbit, Aein’s thoughts were dark. Thulrika wasn’t far off the mark. If the hearts of the inhabitants were as black as these men, then the Blue Planet was better off in the hands of Spora. He wondered if these men knew they were manhandling a prince of the blood, or how dangerously the fate of their world tipped in their hands. He wondered how they would react when their population was mowed down by the millions the way Sporadeans had suffered at the advent of the blight.
For planets that skewed far to the dark side, Thulrika championed total annihilation. It was too difficult to build holding pens to keep them in, she said. They would only breed and plot to overthrow their new masters.
The men seated Aein on the ground, and tied his wrists around a tree trunk. They did not offer him anything to eat or drink, let alone a dandelion – possibly to punish him for his insolence earlier. He watched them carefully until the silver ball of moon rose high among the stars, and all the men save one settled into slumber beside the flickering bonfire, which thankfully was far away from where he was tethered.
The only one who did not sleep was Scarface. Aein presumed he was the appointed lookout, until the older man crept to him.
“Here.” Scarface raised a leather sac of water to Aein’s parched lips. Aein drank thirstily, water dribbling down his chin and dampenin
g the front of his tunic. Before he could finish, Scarface withdrew the sac. “Not too much. There’ll be more for you later if you behave.”
Aein licked his wet lips. Scarface observed them. He held up a piece of black bread. The crusty aroma of it made Aein’s mouth water.
“Ah, so you are hungry.” Scarface’s eyes burned in his deformed face. He smiled, but made no move to raise the bread to Aein’s mouth. “A trade, I say. Water and bread . . . for a small token.”
He laid his hand on Aein’s thigh.
“What is it that you wish?” Aein said warily. He thought Scarface’s face far more interesting than Snow White’s. At least that livid scar gave it character.
Scarface’s gnarled and calloused fingers caressed and pinched the firm skin of Aein’s thigh, and inched closer to dormant flesh that curled between his legs.
“You have a beauty that surpasses most women, a beauty that excites me,” Scarface said, his breath reeking of interesting fumes: mulled wine mixed with roast hare. “When you were strung up naked on the rack, I felt stirrings of lust even when I was touching your girlfriend’s most intimate parts. A fantasy involving the two of you in that dungeon would be a feast for the senses, a spectacle maharajahs would pay for. You will both be able to command any price.”
Aein narrowed his eyes. The golden beetles, which had been sent to scout this world, did not prepare him for this. But then the golden beetles were notoriously piecemeal when it came to gathering information, especially when so many of them were quashed before they could return. In Spora, there was no room for relations within the same gender. He wondered if this was a common Blue Planet trait.
“What is a maharajah?” he said.
“A great king who commands many elephants. I see by the look on your face that you have never heard of elephants. They are enormous creatures.” The hand crept to Aein’s manhood. “Enormous.”
It was strange that the inhabitants found him attractive. This body was unwieldy and deformed. Walking upright was a challenge, and having four limbs instead of six even more so. It was strange to be found beautiful at all, he who always had been considered so hideous that Sporadean children clutched their parents as he walked by: “Mother, why does the fifth prince look like that?”
