by Boyd Brent
I shook my head. “It was she who set us this challenge. Come on!” I said, leading him from his cell. When we reached the top of the winding stairs, the tower began to shudder as though from a powerful earthquake.
“We must hurry!” I said.
“What’s happening?” asked the Prince as we ran down the winding stairs side by side.
“You’re leaving the tower, so … so perhaps the witches have no further use for it?”
“Then what is to become of me if we fail?”
“We won’t fail. We cannot!”
We reached the tower's base in the nick of time, for as we flew through the door into the forest, it started to crumble to the ground behind us. The Prince took hold of my hand, the one already tethered to his own, and we ran into the forest until the sound of stone crashing down on stone had faded from earshot.
“I can scarce believe it!” he said, slowing me to a halt. He turned and looked back to where the tower would have been visible above the trees.
“Believe it,” I panted, “you are free, and will never again have to return to that place.”
“And I have you to thank for this,” he said, taking my hands in his.
“I … I have played my role, but I would never have managed it alone, not without the help of your brother. And the curse is not yet broken …” I said, glancing at the tethers around our wrists.
The Prince held my hands to his cheek. “In the short time that it will take us to reach the River of Lost Souls, what force of nature could possibly force us to separate?”
“I cannot imagine one …”
The Prince glanced up at the sun low in the sky to the east where it would soon set. “We must cover as much ground as possible before dusk. And then build a fire big enough to keep them at bay …”
“Keep what at bay?” I asked, glancing about.
The Prince lowered my hands. “One of the few comforts I had during my captivity has now become a threat. You see, the forest … it is home to a pack of ravenous wolves,” he said, placing his free arm around my waist and pulling me close.
“I see,” I breathed, happy for him to do so.
“We must, therefore, build a fire before dark. It is the only thing that will keep them at bay. To that end, we should make haste and get as close to our goal as possible before sunset.”
“Agreed.”
So it was that hand in tethered hand, we made haste, the sinking sun upon our backs, towards the River of Lost Souls that lay in the West.
An hour later, the sun now poised atop the horizon, we found a clearing and set about the task of gathering sticks for our fire. Once we had enough, the Prince made some kindling, and creating sparks from two flints, he set them alight. “Now we must gather wood and build our fire,” he said as we warmed our hands.
By nightfall, our fire burned brightly enough to illuminate our little clearing. “Our work is not quite done,” said the Prince, “we must also make a torch.”
“A torch? But the fire is already so bright,” I pointed out.
“Just a precaution. It's something we can use to ward off any emboldened wolves.”
The Prince made a flaming torch, and steadying it in a hole he’d dug on his left, we sat tethered beside the fire.
“Did you hear that?” I whispered.
“I hear only the crackling of the fire …” he replied, gazing into it.
“I have no wish to alarm you, but … there it is again.”
“A wolf baying? Yes, I heard it that time—although it sounds at least a league away.”
“I can see how even being trapped in that odious tower would prove a comfort on a night like this.”
The Prince nodded. “For so long, the wolves have been my only companions. It will sound silly, but … I used to imagine they were my pets, calling to me. Why do you look at me so?”
“That may be the most desperate thing I’ve ever heard.”
“True,” he smiled, “particularly when you consider that my imaginary pets would have devoured me.” The Prince shuddered, and crossing my free right hand over my left, I held fast to his arm.
“I don’t understand,” he mused, resting his head upon my own.
“Understand?”
“How one possessed of such beauty and charity, who could have anyone of their choosing …”
“Indeed, and I will quite understand if, when all is said and done, you do not choose me.”
“And what’s more, you have a sense of humour,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
I pulled my head away and looked up into his eyes. “Father always says how important it is to laugh at yourself.”
“Your father is a wise man.”
“He also told me that the eyes are the windows to the soul …” I said, gazing into his.
“Do you see anything of merit in mine?”
“In both you and your brother’s. You both have such beautiful souls. Old souls. Even if your brother has kept a secret from me. I don’t suppose you have any idea what it might be?”
The Prince looked suddenly confused. He cleared his throat nervously and said, “We must continue our journey at first light. I think it best you get a few hours’ sleep.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You are going to need your wits about you tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder. “You will wake me at dawn, then?”
“I will.”
Journal entry no. 26
I was woken at dawn but not by the Prince, but by the howling of wolves. I felt myself being lifted to my feet and, blinking the sleep from my eyes, I saw the Prince reach down for the burning torch. “What time is it?” I asked.
“The break of dawn …” said the Prince, holding up the torch and peering at our surrounds for any sign of movement. The fire had burned down to its embers, and dawn’s first light now crept into our little clearing. “Let’s be on our way,” he said, “our torch will continue to burn and provide us protection until the sun has risen.”
“And then?”
“Wolves tend only to hunt at night.” And so it was that we continued our journey west.
We had not gone far when I heard a sound that caused me to draw a fearful breath—some poor man, clearly in great peril, cried out in agony. The Prince and I stopped in our tracks. “The wolves …” breathed the Prince, “they have set upon someone.”
“I have never heard such a pitiable cry! Was it coming from up ahead?”
“There it is again …”
“It did come from up ahead! Come on!” I said, taking hold of his hand and moving forwards. We came to a steep bank, at the bottom of which was a clearing. We looked down to where boulders had been piled high to make a wall—one that snaked away through the forest in both directions. The man shrieked in agony again from beyond the wall. “Come on!” I said, lowering myself onto my backside. The Prince followed suit, and we slid down the embankment to the bottom. We helped each other up gingerly, making certain that the rope remained intact, and no sooner had we got our bearings when a vicious snarling erupted from beyond the wall. There was a small gap in it to our right, and having glanced nervously at one another, we made our way over.
The gap was waist height and barely wide enough for someone to squeeze through. The Prince, aware of my concern, allowed me the first look. I crouched down, and the scene I beheld was so terrible that even recalling it now has set my heart racing and my mind into anguish! On the other side of the wall, the Beast lay on his side, horribly bloodied and endeavouring to fend off a pack of wolves, several members of which lay dead upon the ground.
“What is it? What do you see?” asked the Prince.
“It’s the Beast! The wolves are killing him!” I moved forwards instinctively to reach him and felt the loop tighten about my wrist. The Prince looked up towards the top of the wall. “Maybe … maybe I can throw him the torch over it.”
“It’s too high!”
“Then what woul
d you have me do?”
“You? But what can you do? You will not fit through this gap! There is only one thing for it …” I said as the Beast cried out in agony.
“And that one thing is?” asked the Prince nervously.
“I must go to him,” I said, reaching for the burning torch and sliding it from his grasp.
“You … you would break it? You would break our tether for the Beast?”
“Yes! I can't allow him to die! Not like this. I'm sorry, but I just can't,” I said, sliding my hand free of the loop that secured us. As I did so, the Prince’s form began to fade, and the unexpected warmth of his smile as he did so was something that I resolved to remember until my dying day. The next moment, I was squeezing through that gap and pressing forward for all I was worth. When I came out the other side, I beheld the Beast lying on his back, breathing fast, and the remaining wolves, three in number, preparing to finish him off. A protective rage rose within my breast, and brandishing the torch before me, I darted forwards, swinging it at the closest wolf. The flame singed it horribly down one side. It swung around to face me, yelped, stumbled sideways, and then darted away. The remaining two wolves sniffed at the stench of burnt fur and walked cautiously around the now unconscious Beast towards me. Once again, a protective anger rose within me, and I leapt forwards, swinging the torch like a maniac. It struck the snout of one of the wolves with a ‘clack!’ The creature yelped and retreated while the other circled around behind me. I spun about and ran at it, swinging the torch and yelling like a banshee. The wolf dodged the flame by centimetres but the fur around its neck caught alight, and it darted away. I turned and stepped towards the last wolf, its head held low as it calculated its chances against the fire. Its eyes met my own, and something in my gaze must have convinced it that I meant to protect the Beast come what may. It turned and followed the other into the undergrowth. I lay down the torch, ran to the Beast’s side and, kneeling, took his hand in my own. “Please, wake up, you must …” Tears fell from my eyes, and as they splashed upon the Beast’s face, he opened his eyes and gazed up at me. “Beauty?” he barely breathed.
“Yes, it is I … you’re alive!” I said, clutching his hand ever more tightly.
“You saved me?”
“Yes!”
“But what of the Prince?”
“I was forced to make a choice,” I sobbed miserably, “and please don’t despise me, but … my choice has meant that the curse can never be broken now.”
“Choice?”
“Yes, and I chose you.”
“Me? But why?”
“Why? Isn’t it obvious? I love you.” No sooner had those words passed my lips than the Beast was transformed before my eyes into the Prince.
“But … I don’t understand. Where is the Beast!?”
The Prince drew my hand to his beating heart. “He lies before you … this hand that holds your own, his paw; this beating heart you feel in my chest, his heart. Don’t you see? The Beast and I, we … we are one in the same.”
“The same …” I breathed, the fog only now beginning to clear.
“Yes, my darling. There were never two brothers,” said the Prince, kissing my hand.
“Not two …” I repeated as though waking from a dream.
The Prince sat up and brushed a stray hair from my eyes. “Only one foolish Prince … a Prince who loves you dearly.”
“And what of the curse?”
“Broken! Torn asunder by the choice you were forced to make.”
“You mean to tell me that … that I have chosen correctly?”
The Prince hugged me close. “Yes, Beauty! The curse could only be broken if someone saw through my beastly appearance and fell in love with the man lost within.” As the Prince said these words, our surrounds changed into those of the ballroom in his palace. One by one, his servants materialised, until a hundred stood before us, gazing wide-eyed at their own hands. And when the Prince stood and helped me to my feet, they looked on, clapping uproariously. The butler Hobbs, who I could now see to be an upstanding, straight-backed gentleman with a handlebar moustache, stepped forwards, bowed and said, “Welcome home, sir. Words cannot express how good it is to see you again.”
“And the same goes for you, Hobbs. For all of you,” the Prince said with a smile, gazing raptly at his assembled servants. “And we owe it all to this remarkable young woman,” he said, squeezing my hand.
“All I did was follow my heart,” I said through my blushes.
“I never doubted you. Not for a second,” came Betty’s familiar voice as she stepped from behind Hobbs and smiled. Over her shoulder, I saw a young woman with long dark hair whom I knew to be Molly. “Hello, Molly,” I mouthed.
Molly smiled, waved and curtsied.
I felt the Prince’s hand in my own, and as he gently pulled me around to face him, my heart bounded for joy at the thought of what he may be about to do. Sure enough, he fell upon one knee, and having produced a ruby red ring from his waistcoat pocket, he asked if I would do him the honour of becoming his wife.
“Yes! …” I blurted, and the next I knew, the ring was on my finger. The Prince swept me up in his arms and twirled me around that ballroom until it and all its inhabitants became the happiest of blurs …
My final journal entry …
The days that followed were full of wedding arrangements, dress fittings, and happiness. My family came for a visit, and as you might imagine, Father and my brothers were absolutely thrilled for me. On the other hand, my sisters were … well, let's just say they skulked about the palace in a way that reminded me of those singed wolves.
As I write this, my final journal entry, I find myself reflecting on the improving message of my story. My favourite books have always had one. Be that to be braver, kinder, more adventurous, or truer to one's self, etc. Looking back through my own tale, I think its message is clear—to look upon others not only with our eyes but with our hearts. To listen to what they have to say and never make snap judgements based on appearances alone.
Betty is the only person in the land who knows about this journal. I read it to her this morning. Indeed, if it does not find its way to the real world in years to come, she will be the only person to hear my tale from the horse's mouth.
“I love it,” she said as I finished reading her the entry before this one. “And I think it’s a very good thing you wrote it.”
“Why do you say so?” I asked.
Betty considered her words carefully. “Stories such as yours are generally passed on through word of mouth.”
“True. And?”
“And, as is so often the case, it’s the menfolk who do the passing.”
“And your point?”
“I bet you anything you like that in their version, it’s the Prince who saves you from a pack of ravenous wolves.”
“Surely not,” I replied, sliding my journal under my bed.
The End
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this book, other children’s books by
Boyd Brent for the same age group include:
The Lost Diary of Snow White Trilogy
I Am Pan: The Fabled Journal of Peter Pan
Tambourine Jean & The Extraordinary Head Case
Diary of a Wizard Kid 1 & 2
The opening pages to The Lost Diary of Snow White Trilogy follow here …
This diary is the property of Snow White.
Strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to keep a diary. No fairytale characters are. It's the unwritten rule of the land. And now I know why: because life here is so unlike anything people in the real world have been led to believe. Once it's finished, I'll have to find a hiding place for it. But if you're holding it now, it means it's been found, and the truth about my life can finally be revealed…
Monday
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?”
“You are Snow White.” I've never much cared for this mirror. It's not even supposed to have an opinion
– not according to the fairy tale upon which my life is based. It's only my evil stepmother's mirror that's supposed to say what an unrivalled beaut I am. Well, it simply isn't true. I mean, there's pale and then there's PALE. And I'm the kind of PALE that makes me visible from space most nights.
I can't tell you what a relief it is to share this secret: you can't believe everything you read in fairy tales. The truth is that all the mirrors in the land (not to mention all the reflective surfaces) are wrong about my fairest-of-them-all status. I caught my reflection in Not Particularly Hopeful's eyes the other day, and his eyes said (you heard me correctly, welcome to my fairytale paradise), “You are without doubt the fairest of them all, Snow White.” At this point you may be wondering who Not Particularly Hopeful is. You know there are seven dwarves, and even though you can't name them all, you're pretty certain that none of them are called Not Particularly Hopeful. Yet another misunderstanding about my life. There are five dwarves, and contrary to popular belief, none are even remotely Happy. How could they be, with names like Not Particularly Hopeful, Insecure, Meddlesome, Inconsolable and Awkward? According to the little lamb that skips past my kitchen window every morning, the dwarves represent facets of my own personality. Cripes. That's deep. Particularly for a constantly-on-the-go lamb of such tiny proportions.
Then there's Prince Charming. He wasn't supposed to arrive until after my stepmother poisons me, and I've been in a coma for a hundred years. As the story goes, that's when he wakes me with a kiss, and after that we live happily ever after. No pressure, then. But the other day, when the little lamb hopped, skipped and jumped past my kitchen window, it bleated something about a hunky prince on a white stallion coming into my life. “Really?” I replied. “Stop the press. We're talking in a hundred years' time, once I'm fully rested and up to the challenge of living happily ever after.”
“No,” replied the little lamb. “His arrival is imminent.”
