by Beth Wangler
“There is a kingdom to the north-west, Ferngold,” Derek replied. “They ever were our allies. Go to them, and they will shelter you.”
In her head stretched out hundreds of miles of wasted land, dodging mists and hunters, pitfalls and animated plants, alone against the evil king’s curse. She drew in a shuddering breath and tried to find strength inside.
When she was dressed much as she had been twelve years before, she stood in front of Derek and his wife. The man put one hand, which was not on his crutch, on her shoulder and looked at her. When he spoke, she could tell he was fighting to hold back his emotion. “We trained you to defend yourself, Princess,” he said. “Remember what you learned. Find shelter before night. Whatever you do, keep moving. When Jeremy returns, we’ll send him after you. He has the horse, so he may catch you before you reach Ferngold.”
“Come, you must leave now,” the mother said, leading her to the family room that functioned as kitchen, dining room, and parlor. Old Albert sat by the cook stove, warming his hands.
Elaine went over to him and kissed his grey head. “Thank you for coming, Albert. You saved my life,” she smiled brightly.
“Oh, my Princess, it is nothing,” the old man blushed. “Now be off with ye, or it’ll be for nothing.”
She hugged Derek and his wife, bidding them, “Tell the children good-bye for me, and give grandmother and grandpa a hug. Tell Jeremy I’m sorry for leaving without saying good-bye, and I hope he finds me. Bless you for your kindness to me these past years.”
“Go, Lain,” the mother said, pushing her out the door.
“May the magician’s blessing protect you,” Derek added.
It was still quite early in the morning. Dismal, misting clouds blocked the rising sun from view. Elaine shouldered her bag and turned in the direction she knew to be north-west, beginning to walk through the forest.
It was a sad place, but it was alive. The trees were ill but kept growing slowly, and now, in what should have been spring, they produced a smattering of limp leaves and a handful of brown flowers. Near the edge of the section around Derek’s house, in view of the black, dead, bare trees, Elaine paused to pick one of the flowers and looked at it sadly. She could still remember playing in fields of brilliant flowers as a young child, before King Eric’s black heart destroyed the land. She wished with all her heart that the flower in her hand would be healed.
To her surprise, it began to grow and take on color. Soon, it was a delicate pink blossom.
What was going on? Elaine wondered. She touched the tree from which the flower had come and wished again. It took longer, but in a minute, the tree was healthy, strong, and in full bloom.
Elaine let out a gasp of delight. “I can save it,” she said of the land.
An animal startled nearby, making her jump and remember where she was. She was alone, running for her life with hundreds of slave hunters after her. She picked up her bag, which had dropped to the ground, looked over her shoulder, and started walking at a faster pace.
As she walked, she longed to stop and wish each plant and stream back to health, but she could not stop. Neither did she see that, behind her, life was starting to return. It was not as complete as the restored tree, but it was equal to the half-healthy woods around Derek’s house–and it did not fade when she left.
By the time the afternoon arrived, she was too tired to think of anything but getting to Ferngold. She had left the forest and entered a dangerous swampland. Every ounce of energy was focused on avoiding the acid ponds, snatching weeds, slimy quicksand, and hidden pits.
She was standing on a splintery, rotten log, teetering over what she was sure was a twenty-foot-deep hole, when an owl screeched. Startled, she whipped her head up to see what had made the bird cry out. In an instant, she lost her balance. She fell with a short shriek and hit her head on the log as she fell, dropping into unconsciousness.
Chapter 5
T he old man went to a cottage in a forest. A ways away, Brandon dismounted and continued cautiously on foot. Everything about this place was unusual. The trees had leaves. There were plants on the ground. And, most unnerving of all, there was a bird tweeting nearby.
Brandon settled behind a tree and watched the cabin. In a couple minutes, a girl emerged and started walking north-west. She was plainer than he had expected–weren’t princesses supposed to be the most beautiful maidens in their lands?–but she had brown hair and looked eighteen. From the distance, he could not see her eyes.
It was early yet. He decided to give her a couple more hours of freedom before he captured her. He remounted and followed her trail at a distance.
At leisure, still disturbed by the state of the cottage’s forest, Brandon noticed even stranger things. The first was a cherry blossom tree in full, glorious bloom. He stopped his horse in shock and stared at it for five minutes before he could continue.
Along her trail, other things were starting to grow. Black skeleton trees turned brown and grew a couple leaves. Wildflowers cautiously pushed up. Writhing roots and branches that loved to snatch at passers-by, human and animal alike, grew still and dropped with a sigh. In a few places, the poison mist that crept along the ground curled back on itself when it reached the Princess’s footsteps.
When they entered the swamp, he paused by what should have been an acid pond. From her footprints, it was clear that the princess had touched its edge. No longer was it a murky green. It was perfectly clear. His horse sniffed it, whinnied in pleasure, and took a drink. Water. The acid pond was pure water.
An owl’s hoot and a girl’s scream called him forward. It was unbelievable that someone else could have beat him in capturing the prize! He could not let them take her from him, not when he had been so close. He pushed his horse forward until the girl’s trail stopped abruptly, though none other intercepted it. Did someone snatch her from the sky? No, there was a scuff mark and something red, and a strand of brown hair stuck to the bark of a log. She had fallen into a pit underneath it.
Brandon lashed a strong rope to the end of the fallen log and slid down it slowly. At the bottom of the pit lay the unconscious princess. Her head was bleeding, but that was not the worst of it. Marsh weeds were slowly wrapping around her limbs, drawing her down into the mud.
Brandon slashed the weeds with his knife. They fell off of her, leaving red welts on her skin, but more took their place and started wrapping around his ankles and back around her. There was no time to deal with her bleeding head wound. He lashed the end of the rope firmly under her arms, slashed the groping weeds, and climbed hand over hand up the rope. At the top, he knelt and began pulling with all his strength. At first, nothing happened. Then the weeds let go at once and he carefully drew the princess out of the hole.
While she was still unconscious, he cleaned her wound with water from the pond her touch had purified, wrapped her head, and bound her to his horse’s back. Just to be certain she was the right girl, he carefully pulled the collar of her dress to show her left shoulder. There, plain as day, was the heart-shaped mark of the Weavers. It was she. He covered her shoulder back up, with the brief thought that, if his sister was ever taken by a hunter, he hoped the blackguard would have the decency to do the same for her.
Without wasting any more time, he started leading the horse southwards, toward the capital. He had his captive, and he was not going to risk losing her again. He started calculating how much money he would have left over after he paid for Claire’s care, bought a house, hired a maid, and bought all the things he had ever wished he had.
When night came, he sought shelter in a cave in a ravine that used to be a river. The princess was still unconscious, which began to worry him. Brandon spread out his cloak on the cave floor and laid the girl on top of it. For a moment, he watched her as he considered how to awaken her. She looked so pure, so wholesome, and so innocent. His conscience poked him. How could he turn her in to the enemy?
He felt guilt and, strangely, something that almost reminded him of
hope. The guilt was stronger, though, and anyways, feelings brought weakness and pain. He took a quick drink from his flask before pulling a vial of smelling salts out of his pack. It was not uncommon for captured people to faint, which was extremely inconvenient, so he carried salts with him just in case.
Kneeling on the rock floor, he lifted her head and started talking in what was meant to be a soothing voice but was really only gruff as he administered the smelling salts. “Hello, princess. You fell down and hit your head. Don’t worry, you’re okay. We’re in a cave for the night. You’re lying down because you were unconscious. Don’t move, I don’t know if you’re hurt anywhere else.”
The girl twitched and gasped, then looked up at him. Her clear blue eyes caught and held his brown ones. She seemed to read his very soul. His voice faltered. He felt uncomfortable and dirty for planning to turn her in–and he felt uncannily drawn to her. This was not good, not good at all.
Chapter 6
E laine’s head hurt, her whole body was sore, and she was cold and hungry. An unfamiliar, deep voice was talking to her, telling her what was happening. She was injured?
She opened her eyes to find herself staring into a young man’s gaze. His eyes held so much pain, loss, pride, loneliness, and hopelessness, she forgot her physical pain and wanted to cry for him. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “Things will get better.”
He opened his mouth a couple of times before managing to agree. “They-they will. But…are you okay?”
“You said I was,” she told him as she started to assess her body’s condition. She was bruised all over, but she didn’t think anything was broken. She slowly sat up, groaning a little in pain and effort.
“Hey, be careful. Take it slow,” the youth cautioned, putting a hand on her back.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Now, who are you, and how did you find me, and how do you know I’m the Princess?” She glanced at her left shoulder, but the heart-shaped mark was still covered, so it could not have given her away.
The man pursed his lips and seemed to look for a way to avoid telling her some unpleasant truth, then sighed and shrugged. “I’m Brandon Founder. I’m a slave hunter. I followed an old man from a tavern to a cottage and followed you until you fell into a pit. I rescued you so I can hand you over for the king’s reward.”
For a minute, Elaine was too surprised to think. When she regained the use of her voice, she still could think of nothing to say. What did one say when one was taken as a slave? She supposed she should be angry, but she could only pity Brandon Founder. She was no longer physically free and would probably soon die, but he was a slave to the dark things that made him look so sad and drink so much that she could smell the alcohol on him.
He looked uncomfortable when she kept looking at him in kind pity. He cleared his throat. “So, will you say something?”
She said the first thing she thought of. “Poor Albert. He rode all that way in the cold early morning to see me, and he has such bad rheumatism, yet I did not even manage to stay safe for one day.”
Brandon shifted his feet. “You’re crazy if you thought you could escape with hundreds of hunters after you,” he told her.
“It is important. I had no other choice.” She felt some strength return to her and began to take notice of their surroundings. There was a horse, her bag, Brandon’s walking staff, and his cloak, all of which would be easy to access. He had not searched her–she could tell because she still felt her knife in her boot. He was heavily armed with a bow, sword, and several knives, though. She would have little chance against him while he was conscious.
“I’m tired,” she said suddenly. “May I go to sleep?”
Her swift changes of topic made Brandon look perplexed. Good. Have him think she was a frail, flighty, naive young thing. He nodded and gestured to the ground. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll wake you throughout the night, in case you have a concussion.”
That was not as good. He would be staying awake or not sleeping soundly. Elaine pulled a small blanket from her bag and lay down, trying to figure out what to do.
Any plan would require significant alertness and physical activity, so she decided she had better sleep until he woke her up to check on her.
Half the night later, she still had nothing. The third time he nudged her and called, “Princess,” a stroke of genius finally befell her. He looked so tired. She touched his arm. “Brandon, why don’t I take the next watch?” she asked as sweetly as possible. “You’re exhausted.” When he hesitated, she added, “You can tie me to something, if you like. I won’t be able to run.”
He took so long thinking about it, she was afraid he would say no. At last, he sighed, nodded, and tied her wrists to a rock.
Fifteen minutes later, he seemed sound asleep. She reached into her boot with some rather difficult maneuvering and drew out her knife. In short time, she managed to cut her ropes and get free. Quiet as a mouse, she picked up her bag, wrapped her blanket around her, and stood. She would take Brandon’s horse. Even though she felt guilty for stealing, it would make her much faster than him or most of the other hunters–who could afford to import food for themselves, let alone for animals?
She should take something more that would help her defend herself. Brandon’s weapons were laid out about him within his arm’s reach. The bow and quiver would be easiest to grab, but she never learned how to shoot. The knives were behind him–too dangerous to try for. That left the sword.
Only a foot separated the sword from Brandon. Her heart beat so loudly as she crept closer, she was sure it would wake him. She held her breath as she inched her hand closer to the sword. She almost had it! She would be free and on her way again in a minute…
She took hold of the sword, and then her heart leapt into her mouth. Brandon’s hand crossed the open space and firmly rested on hers. Her eyes flew up to find him looking at her with a look somewhere between annoyance, anger, and humor. Had he been watching her the whole time?
Chapter 7
I t really was intriguing to listen to the Princess cut the rope and creep around the cave. Brandon hadn’t trusted her to be able to keep watch, so he had settled into a half-awake, half-asleep state in which he was fully alert yet entirely immobile.
When she stopped in front of him, he hazarded to open his eyes.
His admiration for her grew. Had he been anyone else, she probably could have escaped, fully armed. She wasn’t watching him, just reaching for his sword.
As if he would let her take it.
When she grabbed the weapon, he decided he’d had enough of letting her think she was winning. He reached out and covered her hand so she couldn’t take the sword or use it against him.
Her hand was soft.
“Did you honestly think you could get away that easily?” he asked.
She looked at him for a moment before bolting up and sprinting for his horse. With a shout, he lunged after her and caught her skirt’s hem, tripping her. She twisted and snatched his walking staff from the ground, swinging it at his head with all her strength. He had to let go of her dress and barely managed to grab the swinging stick before it slammed into his head. While he was off-balanced, she spun the staff to the side, stuck her feet on it, and pushed, sending him rolling away.
The girl knew how to fight.
She went for his horse again, vaulting onto his back and kicking her heels.
Unfortunately for her, his horse and he had a bond. All he had to do was whistle, and it immediately ignored the princess and trotted over to him.
While she was still trying to control the horse, he grabbed her arms and pulled her down. There was still a lot of rope left, so he bound her wrists behind her back, tied them to her waist, and attached a lead rope to the front of the waist rope. When he had finished, he quickly checked to make sure she had no more hidden weapons.
Tears were streaming down her face. He felt like the meanest mercenary. He had made the Princess, who was bringing life back into the l
and, cry. And she could not even dry her own face. “Don’t cry,” he begged. He had no idea what to do.
“Please, let me go,” she pleaded. “I have to get to Ferngold and raise an army to defeat King Eric. He’s killed the land and turned everyone into slaves of one sort or another. People die and worse every day. I’m the only one left with the courage to defy him and the power to heal the land. You said you followed me. Didn’t you see the beautiful tree? That was me–I wished, and it came alive again. ‘May the land ever draw its strength from the purity and fortitude of its rulers’ hearts.’
“Don’t you see? You have to let me go, so I can save Clachan.”
Her eyes and nose were red, her cheeks wet with tears, but as she looked at him, Brandon thought he had been wrong. She was beautiful enough to be a princess.
Reality beckoned. “Even if I let you go, you’ll never reach the border,” he reminded her.
She swallowed and took a deep breath. “Then come with me.”
“What?” He wondered if he had fallen asleep after all and was in a bizarre dream.
“Come with me. Be my guard and my guide. How much was the king going to pay for me?”
He told her.
“I’ll give you twice as much, forgive all debts and crimes, and give you a place at court and a house anywhere you desire–ten houses, if you wish for them,” she offered.
Was he really considering accepting her offer? “If I say yes, what happens if we run into a mob of hunters and I can’t defend you? And you’ll only be able to give me that if you actually defeat the king, and that’s not likely.” He crossed his arms and frowned at her, trying not to let on how much her entreaty affected him.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “You have to decide: Will you side with evil, tyranny, wickedness, death, and a sure reward, or with truth, right, peace, sure difficulty, and a small chance of success?”
