Briar Rose

by Jana Oliver

  What are these things?

  The leader’s growl grew in intensity as it took a step forward. Heeding the warning, Briar flung herself at the wall again, digging with her fingers, trying to find some handhold. Her boots slid against the stones. She nearly cheered when her hand managed to reach the top, but she couldn’t gain any purchase with her feet. Reena would already be over this thing, racing away, but Briar had never been great in gym class. Now that was going to cost her everything.

  With a snarl, the lead wolf leaped forward, its teeth catching hold of the bottom of her dress, trying to drag her down. Briar yelped in fear just as the fabric ripped, setting her free, and she frantically clawed her way higher on the wall, scraping her palms in desperation.

  A hand clamped on to hers and tugged. Gasping in surprise, she pushed harder with her feet against the stones, trying to help. When she didn’t budge, another hand grabbed hers and she was pulled on to the top of the wall. See-sawing on her belly against the rough stones, she tried to focus on her rescuer, but it was too dark to make out the face clearly.

  ‘Quickly, over the top!’ His voice was male and he was short of breath, like he’d been running.

  With tremendous effort, she went over the stones, landing directly in her rescuer’s arms. Claws ripped against stone on the other side of the wall as the wolves tried to climb the barrier.

  ‘We must run,’ the man said, dragging her up on to her feet. ‘They will scale it soon. Hurry!’

  Briar staggered after him, still winded. When she didn’t move fast enough, he caught her hand and pulled her along. Grimly, she knew she really had no choice but to trust the guy – it was either go with him or become supper.

  She barely noted their surroundings as he wove them through tiny alleys, over wooden fences and through abandoned houses. From behind came the constant howls as the wolf pack continued its hunt.

  When the noises grew distant, Briar was finally allowed to rest. She slumped up against an old building.

  ‘Those are really . . . strange . . . wolves,’ she said, finding it very hard to breathe. ‘They climb walls. They’re . . . metal. That’s not . . . right.’

  ‘They will hunt anyone on the streets, at least until daylight.’ The man pointed above her at a window set in the wall. ‘Up you go.’

  ‘In there?’

  ‘It is best we are both inside until the sun rises.’ His face was still in the shadows, so she had no way to judge his intentions.

  Her caution took hold. ‘Look, you were great, but . . . I don’t know you. I don’t know if—’

  ‘I am trustworthy? That is a puzzle, isn’t it?’ he said, his voice harder now. ‘What shall it be – the wolves you know, or the one you don’t? That is a difficult choice, is it not?’

  In the distance, the howls rose again and Briar shivered in response. A single, high-pitched screech of agony carried through the night, following by silence.

  ‘What . . . ?’ she began.

  ‘Apparently you weren’t the only one breaking curfew tonight,’ the man observed. ‘So what will it be? Remain here and hope they don’t find you or go inside the stable and sleep in peace?’

  ‘Why aren’t we going in the stable’s doors?’

  ‘It’s quicker this way.’

  She knew what the wolves would do to her. This guy? Not so much. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any other choice. ‘You win. I’m inside for tonight, but I’ll need a lot of questions answered.’

  ‘I shall do my best to satisfy your curiosity,’ he said, making a cradle of his hands.

  Briar stepped up into them, then caught on to the bottom of the window sill. Pulling herself up, muscles straining, she straddled the opening and then lost her grip entirely. With a short cry she plummeted down into a pile of something reasonably soft. It was hay, fragrant and fresh. She rolled out of the way so her rescuer could join her.

  The young man landed with considerable grace, which told her he’d done this manoeuvre a number of times. Next to him, she had all the climbing skills of a whale.

  ‘Stay there. I’ll light a candle so you do not have stumble your way through in the dark.’

  Briar lay back in the hay and tried to let her racing heart return to a normal pace. Was this part of the curse, like some giant role-playing game? If you survive the car-wreck dream, then you move to another level, one with killer wolves?

  The yawn caught her off guard, and before she had a chance to stifle it she found her eyes drooping. She fought them, desperate to stay awake, if nothing more than to have a chance to run if this guy got creepy. Unfortunately, the desire for rest proved stronger and Briar fell asleep for the second time that night.

  Something snuffled her hair.

  ‘Go away,’ she murmured, waving an arm. There was another snuffle, wetter now.

  As her sleepiness ebbed, she began to recall images from the night before. None of them was good. She remembered the old clock striking the hour, her parents weeping, Lily whispering something to her. The solid impact of the car striking her over and over. And then waking in a world where there were bizarre wolves and houses made of brass.

  There was more snuffing near her right ear. Despite her pounding headache, Briar forced her eyes open and discovered something white and woolly staring back.

  She shouted, scrambling backwards in the pile of hay as the ewe bolted away, just as shocked as she was. Briar wiped something off her face – sheep snot she guessed – then tried to get a grip on her surroundings.

  Looking around, she remembered climbing in through the window above her, helped by some young guy who’d saved her from becoming wolf chow. A quick glance proved her clothes were still rustic and her boots covered in dried crap.

  There were no Pearly Gates, no Saint Peter peering down at her and asking why she’d kicked Becca Fingle in the shins when she was three.

  Maybe I’m not dead. But she certainly wasn’t in Bliss.

  Besides the sheep, a mud-spattered cow was tethered a short distance away, methodically chewing its cud. A really big horse took up a position near the front of the structure, the sturdy kind of beast farmers used before tractors were invented. Four riding horses were tethered on the other side.

  This did not qualify as heaven unless you were a member of the Future Farmers of America.

  She started at the sound of voices coming from just outside the barn. One was quiet, with a hint of a rustiness to it, the other higher-pitched, aristocratic, enunciating each word with precise care, as if they were bladed weapons. As Briar peered round a stall, two men entered the building. The first had dark hair that ended at his broad shoulders, and an aquiline nose. He was tall, wearing homespun clothes along the same lines as hers, and held the reins to a horse that would never be used for ploughing if the fancy saddle was any indication. Briar smiled in recognition – this was the guy who’d saved her butt the night before.

  The man next him was blond and better dressed, clearly from a higher rung on life’s ladder and eager to flaunt it. Once the horse was secured and the saddle removed, its owner began to issue orders.

  ‘I’ll need my mare to remain here for today only,’ he said, giving the stablehand a condescending glance. ‘I’ll send for her after I have completed my business at the castle.’ He tossed a coin in the air, one the groom caught with some dexterity. ‘Don’t scrimp on the hay, or you shall feel the bite of my sword.’

  ‘Is it your intention to visit the princess?’ the young man asked, brushing aside the threat.

  The nobleman blinked at the bold question. ‘Yes. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it.’

  ‘I do not need the advice of those beneath me,’ he replied crisply. ‘I hired you to tend my horse, nothing more.’

  The stablehand gave a half-hearted bow. ‘I apologize, my lord. No doubt, you know what is best.’

  The man seemed mollified. ‘Perhaps there will be a position for you at the royal stables when I become king. Providing my mount is w
ell cared for, of course.’ Then the imperious fellow spun on a heel and strode out of the barn.

  Once the noble was gone, Briar’s rescuer patted the horse’s flank. ‘Your master’s a glittering fool. If he tries to see the princess, he’ll be dead before sundown. I’ll be sure to find you a smarter owner the next time around.’

  Princess? Briar slumped back into the hay, stunned. Ohmigod. I’m inside a real fairy tale. You have got to be kidding me.

  The young man walked to where she was located, and leaned against a timber support, arms casually crossed over his chest. His raised eyebrow hinted at amusement.

  ‘So you’re awake,’ he said, his voice richer now than when he’d been talking with his customer. ‘It is not often I find young women curled up in my hay.’

  Briar’s headache made her cranky. ‘Where are they normally curled up?’

  The roguish smile on the young man’s face gave her the answer.

  ‘You’re not from here.’ He hadn’t posed it as a question.

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because you were out after curfew. Those who live in the village know that’s a death sentence.’

  ‘You were out after curfew,’ she said.

  ‘I heard you pounding on one of the doors, trying to gain access. I knew you wouldn’t.’ He leaned closer and pointed at her face. ‘You should not allow yourself to be seen in such a manner.’

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘Your hair, it’s the colour of gold.’

  Apparently he didn’t like blondes. Even worse, he was watching her more closely than Briar preferred.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Briar . . . Rose.’

  He was older than her, maybe eighteen or so, and his eyes were a deeper brown. He was quite handsome in a rugged kind of way, and reminded her of an older version of Joshua, but that was probably because he worked with horses.

  ‘You have yet to tell me why you were alone on the streets,’ he said.

  How was she going to explain this? If she told him the truth, they’d probably roast her at a stake for being totally crazy. ‘What is your name?’ she asked, hoping to buy time.

  ‘Ruric,’ he said, executing a full bow with a great deal of expertise.

  ‘Good to meet you, Ruric.’

  ‘Why are you on your own in such a place?’ he asked, moving a step closer. Clearly he wasn’t going to let it drop.

  ‘This is going to sound strange, but where am I?’

  ‘In the town.’

  ‘And the town’s name is . . .’

  ‘Kursian, though hardly anyone refers to it as such.’

  ‘Oh.’ That didn’t help. ‘I was sent here . . .’ She trailed off. ‘And I don’t know how to get back to my home.’

  He blinked. ‘What village do you call your home?’ he asked.

  ‘Bliss.’

  The corners of his mouth curved upward. ‘That is a curious name for a hamlet. Is it truly so blissful for those who dwell there?’

  ‘No. It’s OK, I guess.’ At least it doesn’t have wolves in the streets.

  ‘Oh . . . kay?’ he asked, puzzled.

  Briar realized she needed to translate. ‘OK means . . . it’s good. Nothing really fancy, but good.’

  ‘I see,’ he said, frowning. ‘Our village is not blissful. It is dangerous here, what with the wolves and the fata.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘They are—’

  Someone called out for Ruric and he quickly waved her into a corner. ‘Stay out of sight until I have finished with this one. Then I will help you if I can.’

  Briar did as he asked, though she wondered why he was so nervous about her being seen by anyone.

  Once another man and his horse had departed, Ruric returned. During that time, he’d apparently given her situation some thought. ‘Perhaps I can find someone who knows where your village lies,’ he said. ‘Then I can arrange an escort to return you safely to your family.’

  ‘I don’t think it’ll be that easy,’ she said, that admission crushing a bit more of her hope. ‘I think I’m here for some reason.’ Not that she had a clue why she felt that way. It was more instinct, like knowing she should walk towards the oncoming car in her nightmare, rather than trying to dodge it.

  When she looked back up, Ruric’s frown had reappeared. ‘You are most peculiar, Briar Rose.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, flopping down in the hay. ‘Tell me more about your village. Why do you have a pack of wolves roaming the streets? I mean, that’s pretty . . . drastic.’ She’d almost said ‘medieval’.

  ‘They are only part of what keeps this village in thrall.’

  Which wasn’t an answer. ‘What about this princess?’

  ‘She is part of the problem. Aurora has been asleep for a long time, you see.’

  Aurora? Oh wow, I’m in ‘Sleeping Beauty’. That was her fave tale ever, but why did it feel wrong?

  ‘Why hasn’t some prince kissed her and broken the spell?’

  ‘You know of her plight, then?’ Briar nodded. ‘In truth, many have tried, prince and commoner. They all failed because of the regent.’

  ‘What regent?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘The one who rules the kingdom until Aurora is restored.’

  That’s not right. While in some of the versions of ‘Sleeping Beauty’ the curse had put the entire kingdom asleep, in others it was just the princess, her family and the servants, trapped inside a wall of thorns. None of the tales had ever spoken of someone running the kingdom while they waited for the sleepy royal to rise and shine.

  ‘Who is this regent person?’ she asked.

  Ruric’s face clouded. ‘That is a very dangerous question.’

  He beckoned her further back inside the stable. She noted he kept himself positioned so he could see the doors at all times.

  ‘Aurora was cursed to die when she reached her sixteenth birthday,’ he replied in a lowered voice.

  There’s a lot of that going around.

  ‘When the princess pricked her finger on a needle, she fell asleep.’

  ‘And her family too, right?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . they did not survive. One by one, they died from some mysterious illness, or at least that is what the regent claimed. Now the only one left is Aurora and none can awaken her.’

  That was so wrong. Before she could follow up on that, somewhere in the village a gong began to sound.

  ‘Another curfew?’

  ‘No.’ Ruric’s face fell. ‘I knew that fool didn’t have a chance.’

  ‘You mean the guy that left his horse here?’

  ‘Yes. That sound means we are being summoned to a Reckoning.’ He stared at her. ‘We must cover your hair.’ Ruric hurriedly dug around in his possessions until he found a coarse piece of fabric, which he handed to her. It smelt musty and even though she tried to talk him out of it, he wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Just cover all of it. Tuck it up tightly.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s dangerous for you to be seen the way you are. I’ll explain later. Hurry now, we are running out of time.’

  Once she’d done as he asked, he hastily smeared dirt on her face, taking special care to darken her eyebrows. His fingers were calloused, but gentle, and it was disconcerting to be this close to him, to see so deep in his eyes.

  As if made uneasy as well, Ruric stepped back, wiping his hands on his breeches. ‘That will have to do.’ He pulled on a grey cloak, tying it at his neck.

  ‘What is this Reckoning thing?’ she asked as he secured the stable doors behind them.

  ‘It is . . . a summons by the regent. All in the village are required to attend, unless you are at death’s door.’

  ‘And if you’re not . . . dying?’

  ‘Then you soon will be.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ruric took off at a pace that made Briar scurry to catch up with him. It didn’t help that he was blessed with long legs.

&
nbsp; When she protested, he refused to slow down. ‘We must hurry. It is never wise to be late,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It is best not to draw attention to ourselves.’

  Briar growled under her breath. Still, Ruric was so serious she clamped her mouth shut. Eventually she’d get her answers.

  As they hurried along, she stole quick glances at the other villagers. Some had pockmarked faces, or missing teeth. A few limped along using makeshift crutches. A young woman with a baby in her arms hustled past, her face flushed. She looked familiar.

  ‘Mrs Bailey?’ Briar called out. The woman didn’t act as if she’d heard her and kept moving.

  Briar thought maybe she’d been wrong, but then she saw two other people from her town, as well. One man looked straight at her, but there was no sign of recognition.

  OK, this is freaky. Part Bliss, part . . . whatever.

  Next to her, a portly man puffed along, flour dusting his clothes. A baker perhaps? A small boy sped past them with a scraggly dog barking at his heels.

  In the daylight the village looked just as confusing as it had at dusk. Ramshackle houses with uneven roofs crouched over the street like arthritic vultures. The street itself was dirt and mud, or worse, depending on where you put your feet.

  This is too real to be a fairy tale. The storybook villages were littered with clever boys, hideous giants, brave princes and evil stepmothers. Princesses were everywhere, most of them in dire need of being rescued. The only thing in abundance in this hamlet was people who really needed a bath.

  Hasn’t anyone invented soap yet?

  Despite the smell, Briar really wanted to slow down and check it all out. Even if this was a dream, how often did you find yourself inside a story? Unfortunately, Ruric didn’t alter his pace until they reached some sort of crossroads when the increasing foot traffic slowed him down. Five lanes – they could hardly be considered streets – converged at a hub, like spokes on a wheel. In the very centre was a well.

  Just like Bliss used to have. Briar had seen pictures of it at her grandparents’ house.