Pulchritude

by Ana Mardoll

  Cienzo raised his head again to stare at the creature in astonishment. "Your ... bride?" he asked incredulously, and the beast growled so fiercely that he immediately dropped his gaze again back to the ground. "I ... I will do as you ask," he said meekly. "Anything to leave this place," he thought.

  "Promise!"

  The voice was a howl of rage and anger. "I swear it, my lord," Cienzo vowed quickly into the dirt. "If you let me go, I will bring one of my daughters to be your bride."

  He felt the beast's paw on his shoulder, and he trembled in fear, certain that its claws were about to rip him open from head to toe. Instead, the strangely hand-like paw gripped him like an iron vise and he felt himself being hauled painfully to his feet, as the beast's claws dug deeply into his shoulder. Even at his full height, his head was level only with the top of the creature's fine garments; the beast would have to stoop just to rest its chin on Cienzo's head.

  The beast moved around him to stand between him and the gate. It stood there gazing solemnly at Cienzo for a long moment before lightly touching the bloodied gate latch with the tip of one claw. Before his astonished eyes, Cienzo saw the blood magically draw up into the latch and disappear. Within seconds, the gate was all gleam and polished silver again. With a soft click, the latch lifted easily under the beast's paw and the gate swung silently open.

  The beast gestured to him and Cienzo stepped forward, once again feeling as though he were in a dream. At the threshold of the gate, the beast laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Cienzo quivered in fear.

  "Remember your promise," the beast growled. "If you do not bring a daughter to be my bride, you will die." The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Cienzo gasped in pain as he felt the claws draw fresh wells of blood. "You can't escape my magic," the beast warned. Cienzo nodded helplessly, and the creature released him. Before he could work up the courage to move away, the beast stooped to the ground and retrieved a bruised rose from the ground. The beast handed the stem to Cienzo and silently turned back to the valley, striding off in a loping gait down the road.

  Cienzo moved as quickly as he could. His mule had almost broken its own neck straining at the tied halter to escape the smell of the strange beast. Cienzo leapt on to the cart seat and yanked the reins free, along with the better part of the attached branch, and the mule took off down the road at a frenzied pace.

  The sun was low in the sky before the mule slowed to its usual pace, but Cienzo's heart was still pounding. The strangeness of the day remained immediate and dangerous. Bright colors still swirled before his eyes: shining silver metal, deep green leaves, and his own red blood soaked into his shirt. He looked down and saw that the bruised rose lay on the cart seat beside him, still beautiful in spite of its limp form and dirty petals.

  Chapter 7 - Venizia

  Venizia smiled as the strains of music floated up from the downstairs sitting room. The melody was a simple one and proceeded with a halting, uncertain gait, but she was still so proud of Fiorita for all that she had learned in the last two weeks, and was so pleased with Bella for being willing to teach the girl.

  She had been worried that Bella would be unhappy in her father's absence. Indeed for the first few days, Bella had barely a presence at all in the large house: sleeping well past breakfast, dressing silently in her room, walking alone into the village for her social calls, and taking dinner privately in the sitting room while she practiced on her portative organ. 3

  Venizia had watched the girl's determined solitude with growing vexation and had wondered if she should step in and address the issue directly, but she had struggled with the question of how to approach the young woman. Each day she had resolved to let the matter wait one more day. "More flies with honey than vinegar," Venizia had reminded herself, although the advice had been easier to dispense to her own daughters than to herself.

  Still, she puzzled over the situation. During their whirlwind courtship in the city, Venizia had been attracted to Cienzo's fierce love for his daughter almost as much as she had been to Cienzo himself. There were many men in the city willing to marry her for the inheritance left by her late husband, but few who would have described with such ardor the vibrant daughter eager to welcome a new stepmother into her home. Venizia had seen in Cienzo a rare soul who would love her own daughters as much as she. Yet when she moved into her new home and met the anticipated Bella, she'd found the young woman to instead be surprisingly quiet, almost to the point of furtive. Only time would tell if the young woman was sullen or merely shy, but Venizia harbored a silent doubt that her husband understood his daughter and her wishes as well as he believed.

  On the fifth day of Cienzo's absence, Venizia had looked up from her conversation at the dinner table with Marchetta to notice that Fiorita had slipped quietly away from the table. Her youngest daughter had crept into the sitting room and was now gazing over Bella's shoulder as the girl played a melancholy piece. Bella's eyes were closed and she swayed slightly to the music issuing forth under her fingers; Fiorita watched her wistfully with obvious fascination.

  When Bella finished the piece, Fiorita broke the sudden silence with a sigh, saying, "You play so beautifully."

  From the dining room, Venizia could see the pale girl start back from Fiorita's voice, her eyes opening wide in surprise at the younger girl's unexpected proximity. She took a moment to calm herself; Venizia saw Bella frown slightly as she answered with a simple, "Thank you."

  If Fiorita could hear the coolness in the older girl's voice, she didn't show it; she plopped down on the seat next to Bella and sighed again with longing. "That song was so sad and lovely, I wanted to cry as you played it." She grinned in admiration at the older girl and volunteered, "Mama tried to teach me the harp when I was younger, but I never could get the hang of the strings. I'd give anything to be able to play the organ like you do."

  Bella blinked at the younger girl, taking a moment to digest all this. When she spoke, her voice was tentative as she offered, "I could teach you a little ... if you want?"

  "Oh, would you?" Fiorita squealed happily, and threw her arms in gratitude around her startled stepsister. She drew back almost immediately, beaming with delight, and asked, "Can we start now?" In her enthusiasm, Fiorita all but dragged the portative organ from Bella's lap to her own, as Bella watched her stepsister with curious astonishment.

  As Bella began to explain the different organ keys in a low voice, Venizia glanced at Marchetta to see her eldest watching the scene with the same intense interest as her own. Casually, mother and daughter picked up the conversation where they had last left it, while Venizia privately counseled herself not to raise her hopes too highly. For the rest of the evening, Venizia would glance periodically into the sitting room to see the two girls huddled over the instrument as Bella patiently explained its workings to the younger girl.

  From that day forward, a new pattern slowly emerged in the household. If ever Bella failed to appear to breakfast or dinner, Fiorita would cheerfully dash off to find and coax her to the table; by the end of the week, Bella was quietly sharing her meals with them without having to be asked. Evenings were spent immersed in music lessons. Afternoons saw Bella and Fiorita walking to the village together, with Fiorita cheerfully clutching the pocket money she'd begged for both of them. Venizia was only too happy to spoil the girls; she was overjoyed to see her energetic daughter drawing Bella out of her shell, and if the girl still seemed reserved around Marchetta and Venizia, her stepmother was certain that familiarity would come with time.

  Venizia was brought out of her reflections by the clatter of a cart on the road, the sound drifting up from the lawn and over the strains of music coming from the downstairs sitting room. Quickly she set her book on the dressing-table and hurried to peer out the thick windowpane. Cienzo had been gone over a fortnight, well over his initial estimate of a week's journey; with relief she saw through the bubbled glass that the cart was his and the hunched figure in the cart seat was his own.

  She hurr
ied out of the bedroom, calling to the girls to come meet their father, and taking the steps two at a time in her excitement. As much as she had enjoyed the quiet time alone with her daughters again and as thrilled as she was that his absence had allowed the girls to grow closer together, she still had missed her husband and was relieved to have him home again. Having him gone for such a long time had reminded her acutely of how much she loved his infectious laugh and his hearty embrace. Venizia flung open the front door, intending to run to embrace him, but the sight of him from the open doorway rendered her motionless in shock.

  Outlined in the bright sunset, Cienzo sat hunched over in his seat as though a great weight were on his shoulders. His face was covered in streaks of dirt, smudged with tears. The shirt of his sleeve was torn in deep gashes and hung down his arm in strips, and dried blood coated his arm and sleeve. Marchetta's sudden gasp in the doorway beside her brought Venizia out of her shock and she rushed forward to take the reins from her husband.

  "I'm fine, I'm fine!" he snapped at her, keeping a tight grip on the reins as he guided the mule slowly into the yard. "I'm fine," he repeated again, quietly this time, and Venizia could not tell if his changed tone was meant to be an apology or if he had simply succumbed to whatever misfortune afflicted him.

  Setting her mouth in a firm line, she offered him her hand, and he looked at it in incomprehension before allowing himself to be helped down from the cart. "We must get you inside," she said crisply, "that needs binding." Up close, she could see the deep gashes in his arm, still seeping lightly with wet blood.

  "I'm fine," he said again, but he allowed her to guide him up the lawn and into the house.

  At the threshold, he stopped to survey the three girls. Bella and Fiorita had come running at the announcement of his arrival; Fiorita still clutched the portative organ in her hands, now sadly forgotten. Bella's eyes were wide with shock and her face was such an ashen white that Venizia feared the girl would faint right there on the doorstep.

  "Your gifts are in the cart," Cienzo said to the girls sadly, as he sagged against Venizia for support. "Except for yours, Bella." He stretched out his hand to the shocked girl and Venizia saw that he was clutching a wilted rose tightly in his fist. Numbly, the girl reached out to take the flower from him. Cienzo sighed deeply and said with a trace of bitterness, "That rose cost me everything." The girl stared at him blankly, and Venizia placed her arm around her shattered husband and guided him unprotesting up the stairs to their bedroom.

  Once she had sat him on the edge of the bed, he lapsed into a stunned silence. Carefully, she pulled his shirt off and began to clean and bandage his wounds as best she could. She watched his face as she worked, and became more worried; outside of a few winces in pain as she probed his fresh wounds, he acted completely dazed, not at all like the husband she had known just a few weeks ago.

  "Cienzo?" she ventured to ask, once his wounds were clean and bandaged as tightly as she could wrap them.

  "Hmm."

  She wasn't sure if it was an answer or just a response to the sound of her voice. "Cienzo, what happened? Were you attacked?" Obviously he had been, but she couldn't imagine who the culprit could be. The marks on his flesh had been animal, not man-made, so she didn't think the trouble could be bandits, but if an animal had attacked him on the road, why would it not go for that sluggish cart-mule instead of her loud husband?

  She stood and paced anxiously to the opposite side of the room, turning to stare at him in worry. He sat motionless at the edge of the bed, staring down at his knees, his white chest covered with hair matted in blood and sweat, and with thick lines of black dirt coating his fingernails. Suddenly very tired, Venizia wanted nothing more than to have a good cry at this unexpected twist of events, but instead she lifted a glass of wine from her dressing-table, and brought it to Cienzo's lips.

  He drained the glass automatically before dropping the wineglass. The empty wineglass rolled unbroken on the floor, and Venizia was grateful for small favors. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she said in a firm voice that she hoped would break through to him, "Cienzo, what has happened? Tell me now."

  Her husband drew his head up reluctantly from his hands. His face was red and the skin around his eyes was puffed and bright with tears. "Do ... you remember ... the country castle ...?" he stuttered between sobs.

  Venizia frowned, trying to remember. There was a castle some distance from the village, and not far from Cienzo's route to the city. She hadn't ever been there herself, never having felt the need to leave the comforts of the city to gawk at the antiquated wealth of an unimportant country lord. Moreover, the provincial lord was rumored to be something of a womanizer, and any desire she might have had to see the place was quenched by an unwillingness to tempt ill fate. "Did you stop there?" she asked in surprise. She had thought Cienzo had planned to come straight back home after leaving the city.

  "Only ... to collect ... a rose," he sniffed.

  "A--?" Venizia's voice trailed off in a question, but her memory supplied the answer faster than her mouth could react: Bella had asked for a rose as a gift. Venizia had found the request a touch sad, but she had noticed that Cienzo had been obviously pleased. Obviously he had not been able to find one in the city, which was not terribly surprising considering the earliness of the season, and had gone off his route searching for one in the wild.

  "A rose!" Cienzo howled in answer to her question, and buried his face again. "My life for a rose," he mumbled piteously.

  "Cienzo, stop it!" Venizia said, her rising voice sounding harsh in her ears. She felt that one or both of them was about to dissolve into hysteria. She knelt on the floor before him, and pulled his hands away from his face so that he was forced to look at her. "What happened? Tell me exactly."

  He sniffed and frowned at her petulantly, but then his face crumpled into tears. The words seemed to spill from him in sniffling sobs. "The royal family is gone from the castle ... there is a powerful magician there that takes the shape of a vicious bear ... He accused me of stealing his roses and placed a curse on me. If I do not bring him one of my daughters to be his bride, I will die." His story told, he pulled his hands from her grip and slumped sideways on to the bed, sniffling with his face pressed into the quilts.

  Venizia stood slowly in astonishment, walked to her dressing-table, and sank quietly on to the bench. The story her husband told was too fantastic to be true, but there were the deep furrows on his arms, now covered by her bandages. Had some fever in his brain transformed a bad encounter with a mundane animal into this tale of magic, or did those deep cuts really support his outlandish story? She stared at her husband, slumped over the bed, whimpering to himself, and she couldn't imagine that he at least didn't believe his own story. "What are you going to do?" she whispered to him.

  Slowly he opened his eyes and stared at her in incomprehension. "What can I do?" he asked, helplessly.

  "You'll ... you'll have to get your affairs in order," she said hesitantly, hardly believing she was having this conversation.

  In a burst of energy, he sat bolt upright in bed. "What?" he demanded, dismayed, "Just like that? You're giving me up for dead?"

  She blinked at him in confusion. "Cienzo, I hardly know what to think," she said slowly and carefully, unsure how to react to his changed tone. "If you are really cursed--"

  "I am!" he insisted stubbornly.

  "--then we can travel to the city to seek some sort of ... help ..." Venizia struggled with the concept. There were magicians aplenty in the city, even some claiming elaborate genealogical descent from obscure gods or powerful fairies, but she had always chalked the whole lot of them up as charlatans. She continued resolutely, "But we have to face the possibility that they may ... fail." The situation seemed so unreal. Occasionally a story would drift through the city of some rich family being visited by magic and disaster, but those were things that happened to other families, not her own. A chill ran through her and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. "Is t
his happening?" she wondered. "Can life really change so suddenly in a single day?" Cienzo was either cursed or mentally disturbed, and she could think of no way to help. She walked to her dressing-table and leaned against it for support. When she looked up, he was staring at her with an odd look on his face.

  "There is a third option," he said. "We can give the magician the bride I promised." He tried to stare her in the eyes as he said this, but his eyes slipped down to the floor before he could finish his proposal.

  Venizia stared at him in horror. "What?" she asked hoarsely, her voice barely reaching her own ears.

  "Think about it," he urged. "He asked for a bride, not a meal, so we can be sure she will be safe with him. He is powerful and rich, and all he needs is a kind, sensible wife to civilize him. Fiorita or Marchetta--"

  In an explosion of rage, Venizia hurled her book from the dressing-table directly at his face. With a yelp, Cienzo ducked and the book flew wide; the heavy volume smacked the far wall with force and dropped with a sickening thunk as loose pages fluttered and slid across the floor. Venizia realized her fists were clenched at her side as she shook with fury. Never had she thrown anything at another human being before, she realized, and never had she been so angry.

  "Don't you dare," she hissed at her husband, as he stared at her in shock. "Don't you even think of trading my daughters to settle your debts." He opened his mouth to protest, and she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I will kill you first," she promised coldly. "I swear it."

  "So you want me to die?" he asked angrily, but with tears welling up in his eyes again.

  "Yes," she spat furiously, and then truthfully and with a trace of sadness, "No." She took a few deep breaths, turning sideways so that she might gather her thoughts without looking at him, and unclenched her fists. With as much calmness as she could muster, she said firmly, "I love you, Cienzo. I do not want you to die, and I wish this had never happened. Whether you must go back to this beast-man to die, or die here in your bed, or travel the city looking for someone to remove this curse, I will be by your side the whole time."