Hunt- Red Riding Hood Retold

by Demelza Carlton

"Alard!" she shouted.

  "Ngh?" A man lifted his head from the table on the dais. Had Alard been sleeping on it?

  Rosa strode forward. "Alard?" She had never seen him look quite this dishevelled. Why, he looked like he needed to shave, after sleeping there all night. And here she thought he simply hadn't been old enough to grow a beard yet.

  He beamed. "You came! I shall have the servants prepare a chamber for you at once. My mother's has not been used since – "

  Rosa silenced him with a look. "I came to ask you why there was a knight on my doorstep this morning. A knight who believed he was on a quest to slay my wolf, Alard. Do you have any idea how dangerous that creature is?"

  Alard yawned. "Of course, of course. It's a wolf that killed your family. Very dangerous indeed. Which, I'm sure, is why you are here. Accepting my invitation. I shall send someone to the next town for the priest at once, for the sooner we are married – "

  "We're not getting married."

  He stared at her. "Why, of course we are! Don't you remember that Midsummer when we sneaked away from the feast and lay together? We promised we would never part! I admit I should have taken you as my wife then, but Father was fine then. Now, there must be no delay."

  Rosa screwed up her face. "Midsummer, six years ago? The first summer after I lost my family, and went to live with my grandmother? I was sixteen, Alard, and we'd both drunk too much mead. I'm surprised you remember anything of that night." She'd plied him with that much mead in the hope that he hadn't.

  She had not been so drunk when she'd accepted the comfort his body offered. Those who had taken up the new religion believed such relations between a man and a woman to be a sin, but Rosa knew the gods of the forest thought otherwise. They expected their priestesses to encourage as much spilling of seed as possible, especially at their most sacred festivals. Particularly when a priestess in training began her novitiate, as she had that night.

  Alard's kisses and caresses that night had been reverent to the point of goddess worship, which is why she had chosen him to share her mead in the moonlight before he helped her shed her virgin's blood before the altar.

  One night of pleasure, consecrating her body to the fertility of the forest, before taking the bitter elixir at dawn to ensure no baby was born of the union.

  "I dream of it every night, praying for you to share my bed again. There is no one else, Rosa. No one but you." He sounded so earnest, as if he truly believed his own words.

  "What about Piroska?" she demanded.

  "Piroska?" His face went blank. "You mean the blacksmith's daughter?"

  "The same girl you asked me to mix an elixir for?" Rosa prompted.

  Alard flushed. "That was nothing. I was merely doing the girl a favour. She had evidently done something untoward with some peasant boy or other and was too frightened to ask you herself, so she confided in me, begging for my help."

  "Alard, half the town can hear you scream each other's names when you're rolling around in the hayloft together. Her father might be the only man who doesn't know, if only because of the noise in the smithy." She blew out a breath. "But I didn't come to talk about you and your…exploits. I came to talk about the knight, and the wolf."

  Alard rose and seized her hands. "But we must. You must, Rosa. For my father…he is…he is not well, and I fear he has not long left."

  "The Baron is ill?" She'd never known the man to have so much as a head cold. Grandmother had prided herself on the Baron's good health, and received many gifts from the man in thanks for it.

  "After the shock of your grandmother's death, he took to his bed, and has hardly been out of it since, except last night, where he insisted on greeting the knight. I fear he already regrets it…" Alard led the way upstairs, to the private chambers.

  Rosa half expected Alard to show her his mother's rooms first, but his worry for his father had driven any amorous or matrimonial matters out of his head.

  "Mistress Rosa is here, Father," Alard said softly, gesturing for Rosa to precede him.

  Mistress Rosa? She'd never been called that before.

  Perhaps she had slept, after all, and this was a dream.

  Except…in no dream, nightmare or otherwise, had she ever thought to see the Baron looking less alive than her grandmother's corpse. His skin had taken a grey cast, and no one was more surprised than Rosa when his eyes blinked open – he was not yet dead.

  "Leave us, boy. See that you send the girl home with a gift befitting Mistress Saskia."

  Alard frowned. "But, Father, Mistress Saskia is – "

  "Always asking for more honey, to make mead. See that she has all that we have left." The Baron fixed his eyes on his son.

  Alard bowed his head. "Yes, Father." He departed.

  Baron Arnold turned his eyes on Rosa. "Do you have Saskia's gift for healing?"

  She'd thought she had, but if her grandmother's healing magic had kept death at bay for who knew how long, Rosa didn't think she could match that kind of power. Yet she was the only witch he had, so she lifted her chin and said, "She said my magic was more powerful than hers, but I must assess your condition before I can say if I can help you."

  She laid her hand on his forehead, bit her lip and closed her eyes, letting her magic sweep through his body. It reminded her of a weed-choked field, with some sort of strange growth pushing out the normal parts inside his body. In order to heal an affliction like this, she would need Grandmother's knowledge of plants and growth and her affinity with such things. Rosa could cure a cold or heal an infected wound, if she simply swept the foreign matter out of the blood the way she sent a gust of wind to do her bidding, but this…stuff…grew everywhere. Was a part of him.

  Rosa released the Baron. She wanted to look anywhere but into his eyes, and yet she could look nowhere else. "What did my grandmother tell you about your condition?" she asked finally.

  "That it is like a forest growing around a castle. The walls will only remain strong for so long, but the forest will always win, in the end," he said.

  Rosa nodded. "My grandmother kept the forest at bay. But now…" She didn't want to continue, for if the Baron didn't know about her grandmother's death…

  "Now Saskia is gone, there is no one strong enough to fight it," the Baron finished for her. "Don't try to lie to a dying man, Mistress Rosa. As Saskia often told me, it is a witch's duty to tell the truth, however unpalatable it may be, for it will out in the end. Are you indeed a witch?"

  Rosa nodded. "Of course, but my power is over air, not plants."

  "Did your grandmother teach you the old ways? The ways of the forest?"

  She nodded again. "She did."

  "Then will you protect the village from the forest? You will take her place as priestess, when my son takes my place?"

  She straightened her shoulders. "I took up my duties upon my grandmother's death, though I was helping her long before then. I do my duty not for you, or for the village, but for – "

  "Hush. Saskia chose her successor well, I am sure. I never expected to outlive her, but she would not let me die, either. Even though the weeds within me grow stronger every day, she kept pushing them back. Refused to stay the night here, insisting she had to get back, to prepare you to be her replacement. If I regret anything, 'tis letting that good woman go. But I could not have held her against her will. Not Saskia."

  "You are not responsible for the wolf," Rosa said. She was. And she would not shirk her responsibilities. Not in this.

  "No, but I could have ordered the hunt earlier, when she urged me to, after your family was killed. Yet I did not, for we could ill spare the men. And there were no other attacks, so there was no need. Until now."

  "I will not let the beast take another victim," Rosa said.

  "Let the men kill it. My son boasts of a brave knight who will head them. A hero of many battles. Let the men do the work, for what else are we men for? But you…see that her spirit is appeased. When they bring that beast's body to lay it at your feet, see that it
burns. For Saskia."

  It might be a witch's duty to tell the truth, but Rosa could leave parts out. "When it is dead, I will see that the body burns," she said.

  The Baron smiled faintly. "You are just like her. A witch, and a warrior. Make sure my son sees you safely home to your cottage with whatever he found in the cellar."

  The Baron lay back against his pillows and closed his eyes. He began to snore.

  Rosa took one last look at the man – for he would not live much longer, and she might not see him again – before she headed back downstairs.

  Alard was waiting for her in the yard, supervising as a wagon was filled with things for her.

  "I'm sorry, Alard," she said before he could ask. "At most, I can give you some medicine that will ease his pain. But there is little more I can do for him now."

  He nodded. "Tell my men what you need, and they will bring it back for you. You must stay here, to tend to him. To help him live as long as he can. I shall have rooms prepared – "

  "NO!" It came out louder than Rosa expected, startling her, but everyone in the yard stopped to stare. "Alard, I will not stay here, as your wife or your kept healer. I am going home, right after I give your cook instructions so that she may prepare what is necessary to make your father comfortable in his remaining days. Nothing I can do will save your father, but if I do not hunt down that wolf, he may kill again. And I will not have that blood on my hands."

  "Why do you persist in this ridiculous notion that you and only you can kill this beast? It is not a task for a girl. We have a knight, a true hero, who will do the deed. Let him be your champion. My father needs you. I need you."

  She refused to be swayed by his wheedling tone.

  "Either your knight will not find the beast, or he will be killed. He won't last the week, Alard."

  His eyes lit up. "Then that is what I ask. A week. Stay here, safe, for a week. If the knight returns with the dead beast, as I expect, then you can go home, knowing you will be safe."

  It would take her a week to work out how to outsmart the beast, but she would not spend it here. Not to mention Midwinter was less than a week away. "What will you give me in exchange for doing as you ask?"

  Alard spread his arms wide, taking in the rapidly filling wagon and the men carrying more casks up from the cellars. "Anything you wish."

  Rosa wet her lips. "Send for that priest. When he arrives, you will wed – "

  "Thank God!"

  Rosa continued, "You will wed Piroska, and do your utmost to beget an heir. For your father will rest more peacefully if he knows his bloodline will continue after you."

  "Piroska? But – "

  She gazed steadily back into his hurt eyes. "Forget Midsummer, and any childish passion you may have held for me. In a few days, you will become Baron, and the sooner you have an heir, the better. For that, you need a fertile wife. Fate has given you Piroska, and you would be a fool not to accept such a gift."

  His voice came out hoarse. "If I agree to marry the girl, will you promise to stay safe?"

  "A week, then, I agree to. A week where you may find me at home. For all the wolf attacks have been here in the village, but the beast would not dare come to the cottage." Truth, for there was ancient magic in the stones beneath it. Magic Alard did not need to know about.

  Alard blew out a breath. He didn't look happy, but he said, "Very well. I shall send for the priest. But if you change your mind…"

  "I won't." She wet her lips. "But warn your heroic knight that I think the beast has magic of some sort. The creature is not what it appears to be."

  "Sir Chase needs no warnings. He set out early this morning with everything he needs. He swore to kill the beast, and I believe him. Have faith, Rosa."

  The knight had not come back? That meant the poor fool was alone in the forest…beset by a beast he couldn't kill.

  And she'd just given her word she wouldn’t hunt the wolf for another week.

  Cursing, she set off for home.

  Sixteen

  As Chase headed steadily uphill, the trees thinned, until he came upon another clearing – but this one was covered in snow. Well, mostly snow. In the middle of it was the remains of what looked like a recent kill, ringed round with feathers and bloody wolf prints.

  He surveyed the trees around the edge of the clearing and nodded in satisfaction. This was the place to set up his trap. All he needed was bait.

  Movement at the top of the slope caught his eye – a rabbit, tugging at a scrap of grass that grew sideways out of the vertical cliff face. Chase strung his bow, then fitted an arrow to the bowstring. Without his golden armour, he wouldn't miss this time.

  He exhaled, then released, knowing the arrow would hit its mark.

  The rabbit didn't make a sound as it toppled over, dead.

  Chase tied his mare to a trunk just inside the treeline, before scrambling up the slope to collect his kill. The best place to set the trap was…right here, he decided, pulling out a knife. He gutted the dead rabbit, flinging its entrails across the snow, before dropping the carcass among the mess. If that didn't attract the wolf, he didn't know what would.

  Now all he had to do was climb a tree, and wait for the wolf to show up.

  He'd shoot it, bring it back to the witch, then drag the carcass into town to collect his reward. Easy.

  Chase settled into a suitable perch, wrapped his cloak around him, set his bow across his lap in readiness, and waited.

  Seventeen

  By the time she'd reached home, Rosa still had no more idea of how better to slay the wolf than she had that morning, but she had thought up a plan of how to find the knight without breaking her word to Alard.

  But in order for her plan to work, she needed to learn to fly before dusk, when the wolf would come out to hunt.

  Rosa already knew her cloak wasn't good enough to achieve true flight. She needed something like a boat or a raft that could float on air. If her father, a carpenter, were still alive, he'd build something in moments, but she was not as practiced as he'd been with wood or tools. There had been an old door in the lumber pile, though…

  She dug it out and laid it on the ground. All she had to do was fly it around the clearing. Rosa took a deep breath and bit her lip.

  The door rose off the ground, but the higher she lifted it, the more magic it took, and she'd barely moved it yet. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she gave the hovering door a push. It toppled end over end before it righted itself, flying on a slight angle, before it tipped again, hanging sideways for a moment, before it plummeted.

  Finally, she let it fall to earth. She could never travel atop the door if she couldn't hold it steady. Something lighter, perhaps.

  A blanket flapped around the clearing with little effort, but when she tried to keep it steady, she found it impossible. The blanket rolled and folded with the slightest change of direction.

  A woven screen her grandmother had sometimes placed before the fire to hide its light at night fared better, but air whistled through the gaps, so it lost height quickly, though it held steady.

  The blanket pegged to the screen made its wobbly way around the clearing without falling, but the combination was almost as heavy as the door. Rosa could not fly across the forest on such a heavy raft.

  Ready to give up, she carried the items back inside. It was getting late. She should start dinner soon. The knight would have to wait until the morrow, and survive on his wits for the night, such as they were.

  Rosa decided to bring a smoked sausage down from the loft, and make a stew with it and some vegetables from the cellar. With the loft so full of fermenting mead barrels, she had to climb on top of them to reach the sausage. From her perch, she spotted her grandmother's prized Crusader carpet.

  Thickly woven, with stiff backing, it might hold up for a flight…

  She forgot the sausage and dragged the carpet outside, then spread it on the ground. If this didn't work, then she truly would give up for the day. But if it did…she w
ould go and get the knight before dinner.

  The surface undulated a little as it rose, but the carpet held steady, much like the screen. Rosa sent it around the clearing, lifting it higher as it went. The carpet did not weigh nearly as much as the screen or the door, and while it rippled a little, it did not roll up altogether, as the blanket had. She made it fly around the clearing a second time, level with the tree tops. As smooth as a bird in flight – once it had the air beneath it, it glided almost effortlessly.

  Rosa laughed. What would her grandmother have said, watching her precious carpet flying about?

  She would have said it was a waste of magic. What the carpet needed was a load to carry, or a passenger.

  Her grandmother might have given the carpet a sack of vegetables to carry, but lack of sleep and her need to save the knight made her reckless. If she fell, she could slow her descent, she reasoned, as she swooped the carpet close enough for her to leap on.

  She flung herself headlong at the carpet, clutching the edges in her desperation to stay on as she remembered to keep the air flowing beneath it, buoying her up.

  She made the carpet do a slow lap around the clearing, close enough to the ground that a fall would not hurt her. Then she lifted it higher, letting it move faster. She did not understand it, but that seemed to take less magic.

  Higher, then faster. The air obeyed her thought before she'd fully considered it, flying her almost to the treetops like a circling eagle.

  Rosa's breath caught in her throat, her hair blowing back in the wind that seemed to claw at her eyes, but still she held on. By all that was holy, she was flying!

  She let out a whoop of triumph and pushed the carpet higher, so it cleared the treetops altogether. The mountains rose up in the distance, snowy crags that gave way to naked stone, then forest, as far as the eye could see, until she turned west, where the village lay. The setting sun turned the snowy fields to fire, and Rosa could not take her eyes off the glorious scene. If she but had the skill to paint such a sight, she would be able to look upon it always.

  But sunset meant more than just golden light. Sunset would give way to dusk, and she had a knight to find.