by Dawn Steele
“Where’s the bed?” Snow White said.
“Behind there, dearie.” The old woman gestured to the Chinese screen.
Was it her imagination or did the old woman’s voice take on a more masculine timbre? Before Snow White could move the screen, something loped around her neck. Snow White gasped, her breath suddenly cut off. She clutched at her throat. Below the constriction, she couldn’t feel her body.
No, no, no, she thought desperately. The insects were right. Green zigzags swam before her eyes.
She tried to elbow her assailant, but the excruciating squeeze around her throat tightened. Now her head was beginning to black out.
Out of the corner of her diminishing vision, she saw something burst through the caravan’s only door. With movements so quick they resembled a blur, it sprang upon her tormentor. Wild beast? she wondered feebly. The vice around her throat loosened. Choking, she sank to the floor.
As though from a distance, she slowly became aware of two shadowed adversaries scrambling on the floor, knocking over lamps, chairs and the Chinese screen. Something heavy, possibly a mannequin, fell on Snow White’s back. She was too winded to do anything but clutch at the air around her.
A figure rushed to her side. Snow White took a deep, harsh breath into her burning lungs. Light crept back into her eyes, and she clasped at the figure holding her, unable to believe what she was seeing.
“Aein!” she could only whisper.
“Wait here,” he said, and ducked as a sword flashed above where his head had been.
Snow White watched through hazy eyes; so swift were Aein’s movements that she could hardly blink for fear of missing him. The old woman’s wig had fallen off. Her short hair was pinned flat against her scalp, which was bald in patches. She wielded a sword in one hand and a leather whip in the other.
“Who the hell are you?” the woman snarled in a man’s voice. She swung her head round the caravan.
Aein appeared behind the old woman and garroted her with a red, blue and yellow lace band. “Someone who hates bullies.”
The old woman’s eyes bulged as she struggled. The sword and whip clattered to the wooden floor. Snow White’s trembling hands raised the object that had been around her own neck – a red lace ribbon entwined with a steel band. The old woman’s face slowly turned purple. Finally, she hung limply from Aein’s grasp.
He let her go with a thud.
Snow White gazed at Aein, taking in his fine, sweaty face and the taut lines of his body beneath his tunic.
“I thought you dead,” she said hoarsely.
He knelt by her. “Can you stand?”
“H-how did you do that? How did you move like you did?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, nor she him, so glad was she to see him alive again. She wanted to reach out and touch his face so she can be assured he was really here and not some mirage caused by air deprivation. His large hands were warm on her arms. The image of him choking the faux old woman with them fleeted through her mind.
“Come,” he said, dispelling the moment, “we better go.” He bent down to retrieve the fallen sword from the floor.
He helped Snow White to the doorway. She clung to its frame, her feet still unsteady. Footsteps thudded in the clearing. Wilhem, Gustav and Gretel came charging out from the trees. Gretel brandished a carving knife while Gustav stumbled on a hillock and fell.
“Mantodea!” Wilhem cried. “Are you all right, what happened?”
Gretel stopped ten paces from the caravan. Her eyes roamed up and down Aein’s body, especially focusing on his sword. Behind her, Gustav picked himself up and limped forward, an embarrassed look on his face.
“You’re wielding Gorm’s sword, Bonebreaker,” Gretel said coolly. “I assume you killed him, since he would never willingly part with it.”
Snow White’s blood was coursing too fast for her to register the undercurrents, but when her breathing slowed, she noted the grim set of Gretel’s mouth.
“Yes, I did,” Aein replied. “I had to kill him and his friends. They would have killed me.”
“I see,” Gretel said, running a finger across the carving knife’s blade.
Aein killed Gorm and the others? Snow White felt faint. A prickle of sweat caressed the back of her neck when she thought of Scarface rubbing himself against her. But how? Although well-built, Aein wasn't a patch on the brawny warriors, who looked like they could rip horns from bulls.
A funny look came across Wilhem’s face. His voice was strangled. “You killed Gorm? But he can’t be killed. He told us so.”
Gustav looked like he had been struck by a fallen rock.
“I’m sorry,” Aein said. “Did you know him well?”
Gretel arched her eyebrows. “Gorm is the twins’ father and my husband for a year. I was fairly fond of him. He gave me no trouble, made no unwarranted demands, and praised my beef stroganoff, by and large considered my worst dish. You killed him, so you deserve to die.”
She raised her knife again as Wilhem notched his bow, arrow aimed straight at Aein’s chest. Aein stood wary and poised, his sword arm raised, ready to take them all down if he had to.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“No, no, no, no.” Snow White plunked herself in front of Aein. She stretched her arms out. “Nobody’s going to kill anybody else here. There’s been too much bloodshed. We’re all going to settle our differences like mature people – by talking them through.”
“Snow White,” Aein said, pushing her away, “this is not the time to be courageous. If I killed the father of these people, then I must face their wrath.”
This was something he had been taught. As a prince of the blood, you had to stand up for what you believed in.
It didn’t occur to him that Snow White was doing the exact same thing.
What happened next caught him with as much surprise as it did the others. Because she had her back to him, he failed to notice the look of dismay that crossed Snow White’s face.
“Snow White?” Gretel pricked her ears.
“It means nothing,” Snow White said frantically.
“The princess of this land is called Snow White,” Gretel said. “She is said to be beautiful, the fairest in the land besides the Queen herself.”
“My mother wanted me to be beautiful, so she named me after the princess. You know how old women are.”
“The princess is also sixteen, just about your age,” Gretel shot back.
“I’m younger actually, I just look old.”
“You are a princess?” Aein was as dumbstruck as the others. “But you do not behave like a princess.”
A crimson flush began to spread across Snow White’s cheeks. “Oh?” she demanded, turning on Aein. “How exactly is a princess supposed to behave?”
Aein was stumped. His sisters were gracious and stately, feminine and well-bred. The way Gnomica was. The way his mother was before she turned all fretful and weepy. The way Thulrika probably was behind closed doors with her indeterminate lover.
“I do not know,” he faltered. “More princess-like, perhaps.”
Wilhem did not lift his finger from the cocked bowstring.
“Hey, look what I found,” Gustav exclaimed. In their preoccupation, none of them noticed that he had ripped the bodice of a teal gown with a filigree layer of deep blue lace. On the under-curve of the mannequin’s breast was the symbol of the Bavarian crown. “These come from the castle itself!”
Gretel’s eyes narrowed. “So you are the princess. Someone is trying to bring you home.”
“Coincidences. I’m just a handmaiden.”
“Handmaidens don’t look the way you do.”
“It all fits,” Gustav said in an awed voice. “You’re running to Lapland to seek the King. That’s why you’re so confident in getting an audience with him. Oh wow, I’ll bet you have to story to fill the gossip parchments till the next royal wedding!”
Aein’s mind ran, connecting the dots. He turned to Snow White. “When I met
you, you were running from something. Is someone trying to kill you?”
Snow White’s shoulders began to shake.
“I’m so tired,” she finally said. “So tired of running.”
A familiar flush ran through Aein. He recognized it as pity. “Snow White,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off. “No. I’m all right. I can take care of this by myself.” She turned to face Gretel proudly. “I warn you, if you’re going to drag me back, I’ll wing a knife into you, blindfolded or not.”
To accentuate her point, she grabbed the nearest mannequin and brandished it over her head.
The scene was so absurd that Aein wanted to laugh, but now would not be a good time. He took in the wary stances of Gretel and the twins. Wilhem’s bow was still strung as he darted a glance at his mother. Aein wondered if his own natural reflexes, so quick compared to the natives’, would deflect an arrow at close range.
“This is difficult,” Gustav admitted.
After an awkward silence, Aein said, “The decision lies in your hands. We can fight and several of us will die, or we can walk away from this. Either way, you are going to have to kill me to get to Snow White.”
“Brave words,” Gretel murmured.
“You killed our father,” Wilhem said, “so we will need no encouragement on that.”
“I thought you said you won’t miss your parents,” Snow White said, fixing her gaze on Gretel.
“He comes to see us sometimes. And he taught me how to fight.” Wilhem’s mouth wore an obstinate twist, but his jaw trembled slightly.
“He showed me the stars when I was four,” Gustav added, his neck slumping.
Gretel flashed the twins an angry look. “You won’t miss me, would you now? Who bought you those arrows? Who gave you that telescope?”
“You didn't buy us anything. Everything’s stolen,” Wilhem shot back.
“Well, somebody had to steal them.”
“Are you going to let fly that arrow?” Aein said to Wilhem. “Because if you are, I suggest you do it fast.”
“Before what?” Wilhem challenged.
Aein’s eyes took in the position of the arrow, the precise angle of the bow, Gretel’s upraised knife, all in a fleeting second. Time seemingly stopped.
Wilhem’s finger surreptitiously released the bowstring.
With a pivot, Aein flung Bonebreaker in the direction of the arrow. The somersaulting sword cleaved through the arrow’s shaft. Somewhere in the background, he could hear someone yelling, “Nooooo!” The arrow fell, sliced in two. The sword slammed into a tree trunk, tip first, its handle thrumming.
Wilhem lowered his bow, his jaw slack.
“I am sorry I killed your father, boy,” Aein said. He realized he meant it too.
Snow White covered her face with her hands. Gretel’s knife arm trembled. Gustav sank to the ground, the color fleeing his skin.
“You do not really want to kill me,” Aein said to Gretel. “And I do not want to kill you anymore than I want to hurt your sons.”
The wind whistled through the trees. A raven landed on a branch. Then another.
“So,” Snow White whispered, “where do we go from here?”
#
“I don't know if it’s such a good idea, but I don’t see us having much choice,” Snow White said.
She and Aein walked behind Gretel and the twins. The Barren Lands stretched all around them. Miles and miles of rocky desert and sparse vegetation with roots that reached deep into the ground. The wind that blew in from the north was furious and chilly. Snow White shivered in her new coat.
“We have a choice,” Aein said. “We can journey on our own.”
“There is only one safe path through this blighted place and Gustav has the map to it. We have to share the caravan and the feed for the horses. It makes sense for us to journey together. I think it’ll be OK, at least till the port city of Skiva.” Snow White sounded more convinced than she felt.
“They will keep you alive. But they hold no love for me.”
“By the looks of you, you can take care of yourself.” Snow White pulled her coat collar up.
“I am beginning to think you can too.”
At least in the Barren Lands, any assassin or posse from the village sent to take them back could be seen from far away. Not many people chanced this place unless they were fools, would-be suicides or terribly desperate.
The journey was fraught with suspicion and unease, with Gretel glancing back at them with mounting frequency just to make sure they hadn’t run off or fallen into a scorpion pit. Wilhem mimicked shooting an arrow into Aein every now and again. Two horses drew the stolen caravan and its precious contents. Food and water. Oats for the horses. Gold coins to pave their way to the ships, though Gretel had brought plenty from the village and Snow White still had her pearl embroidered dress. Only thing – there was nothing in this godforsaken place to spend on.
“In Skiva, you’ll be able to find someone to tell you where your mountain is. Though I suppose you’re still going to keep secrets from me.” Snow White felt her old peevishness returning.
“I am sorry, I have no choice.”
“You know, if you’d let me die in that caravan, it would have saved you a lot of grief in having to kill me afterward.”
He looked away, embarrassed. “After I killed Gorm and his friends, the grasshoppers told me where you had gone. I tracked you down.”
She eyed him quizzically. “How is it that you’re able to talk to insects?” She caught the look on his face and rolled her eyes. “OK. I get it. I can see we’re not going to build a citadel of trust here.”
They cantered on, seeing no one else in the wasteland.
“A pity there are no dandelions,” Aein remarked, sighing.
During the night, they camped beneath the stars, huddling together for warmth and shared supplies. Gretel cooked for them all. After ascertaining neither her food nor Aein’s was spiked, Snow White had to admit it was delicious.
“If anyone can make dried beef and gruel taste good,” Gustav said, “it’s my mother. That’s why I always say she’s wasting her talents away in our village. She should be cooking for the Queen.” He noted the look on Snow White’s face and swallowed another spoonful of gruel. “Sorry, slip of tongue.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Oooh, touchy.”
Gretel continued to stoke the fire, her expression revealing nothing. She’s a predatory one, Snow White thought. Aein was right. It was best to split from this bunch the moment Skiva lay on the horizon.
Later that night, she crept to sit beside Gustav. He lay on his back, contemplating the blazing night sky.
“This is what I was made for,” he said dreamily. “To spend a lifetime dedicated to this.”
Snow White lay beside him on the rocky ground. Gustav’s body was a warm water bottle. “You’re really keen on this stargazing thing, aren’t you?”
“It’s my whole life. And I don’t just want to gaze at the stars. I want to travel to them, to the worlds beyond.”
“That’s a little farfetched.”
“Why do you say that? If it’s possible for our world to exist, then it’s perfectly plausible that other worlds should exist. We can’t be the only ones out here. It’s too,” Gustav waved his hand at the infinitesimal nothingness, “lonely.”
In the dark of the night, illuminated only by the twinkling night sky and the yellow and red campfire a distance away, Snow White could relate to that.
“If there are people out there in the stars,” Gustav went on in his dreamy voice, “I’ll bet they won’t look like us. They’d be like weevils. Or little square boxes on legs.”
Snow White agreed. “We probably won’t know they’re among us until it’s too late.”
“What do you think they’d do if our two cultures ever met? Would we be friends, or would there be total annihilation of one or the other species?”
Snow White didn’t know
what to say because she never thought of such things. “There can be . . . ” she faltered, then lit up, “co-existence. Like certain species of ants which make slaves of other ants.” She stopped, realizing what she had said. “Right.”
“The way we lord it over the animals and eat them, you mean.”
They fell into silence. Snow White’s already overactive mind was fetid with enslaving otherworldly people who resembled little green balls.
“Gustav,” she said after a while, “how well did you know your father?”
“I didn't see him much, but I sense he didn’t like me as much as he liked Wilhem. I guess I’m not what you call the physical kind.”
Snow White remained mum.
Gustav went on, “But he would try . . . sometimes. The stars were the only thing we could talk about, and he would tell me the myths surrounding the Big Dipper, and the Pleiades, and I would say ‘But father, none of these are true. Stars are just little suns like ours in the sky’. And he would turn to me with that sorry look in his eyes and wish I was more like Wilhem.”
After a pause, Snow White said, “I’m sorry about your father.”
“I guess men who live the way he did have no choice but to die a violent death.”
Snow White thought about her stepmother, and said nothing.
That night, she dreamed of her stepmother. Snow White was in the antechamber closet, its door slightly ajar. Once again, Isobel was at the mirror. She clutched its ebony frame. Her reflection’s flaming eyes stared back at her.
“Sister, it is done. The Weaver has killed Snow White,” the Queen said.
“Fool.” Her reflection’s voice was cold. “The Weaver is dead. See for yourself.”
The mirror dissolved into the forest. The assassin’s misshapen body lay in the long grass, the exact way they left him, his eyes picked out by ravens.
“Tick tock, tick tock.” A cruel smile played on the reflection’s lips. “Do you feel the flesh sagging off your face, sister?”
