Pulchritude

by Ana Mardoll

  The shock of pain took her breath away. In a single moment, she was surrounded by a tight web of hard branches studded with sharp thorns. Her hair yanked painfully away from her scalp, and the hem of her dress caught and pulled in a dozen different directions. Bella clenched her eyes shut, terrified that a sharp thorn might land in one of her eyes, and pushed blindly forward. "It's not a wide hedge," she reminded herself, gritting her teeth. "If I can just keep moving, I'll get through in a moment."

  Thorns scratched at her arms and legs sharply enough to draw blood. The pain was intense as hairs tore away from her head, but still she pressed on. She felt the branches pulling her back, but she pushed forward and held her club tightly against the grasping net of the surrounding hedge. After a short eternity of pain and doubt, Bella's groping hand reached empty air. Eagerly, she pressed her face through the last of the hedge and into the cool air just as the storm clouds burst.

  Chapter 18 - Ezio

  Ezio watched through half-closed eyes as Bella emerged struggling from the hedge. He had been shocked to see her plunge into the thick cluster of branches, and now he winced in sympathy as he saw the deep cuts on her hands and face that bled thin rivulets. His own badly-bitten shoulder ached deeply; when Guerrino had explained his plan, Ezio had not fully appreciated how much it would hurt. "I just hope the wound doesn't carry over to my human body," he thought fretfully. It would be a dark irony to finally regain his human form just to bleed to death in the rain that sluiced around him.

  Above him, the wolf that Guerrino had fashioned from dried herbs and strange ritual magic, and which he was now animating from the comfort of his tower, growled long and low at the girl as she fought to break free of the clutching thorns. Ezio heard the rip and tear of cloth, and then she stood before him, her wounds seeping and the bottom half of her skirt hanging in uneven tatters around her calves.

  "Bella," he whispered, unsure if she could hear him over the roar of the rain. "You came back." His heart swelled with gratitude that he knew was not counterfeit. He had known completely that her love was true, and now she was here to prove it to the fata.

  "You! You, wolf! Go!" she shouted over the wind. Her wet hair was plastered to her scalp, and Ezio was concerned to see her wobble unsteadily on her feet. "She hasn't lost too much blood, has she?" he wondered uncertainly. She was carrying a tree branch loosely in one hand, and now her grip tightened and she raised the club slowly with both hands. "Get out of here!" she insisted.

  The wolf paced the ground angrily, head lowered and eyes raised to her face. Its slick coat glistened in the rain, and Ezio watched with fascination as the animal bared its sharp, bloodied teeth at the girl. A low growl vibrated from its throat and the creature released three short, sharp warning barks. Guerrino had warned him that he could not perfectly replicate a wolf's body language in a way that would fool another animal, but the message intended for the human girl was clear: it wasn't going to abandon its meal without a fight.

  Bella took a step forward, and then another, edging closer to Ezio. The wolf gave another low warning growl, and the girl screamed her own wordless defiance; Ezio was surprised to feel the anger in her shrill cry wash over him. "I'm not scared of you!" she shouted at the animal. She swung the branch in front of her, once and then twice, the brandish a warning to her opponent. Her eyes blazed with fury. "Get away!" she screamed, her words whipping away with the wind.

  When the wolf lunged, Ezio caught his breath in shock. The animal moved with astonishing speed, striking out at the girl. He saw her swing the branch; a wet thunk and a strangled yelp of pain from the wolf told him that her aim had struck true. A corresponding shout of pain echoed faintly through the thick storm from the direction of the castle. "Was that Guerrino?" The thought flashed through his mind in shock, but before it could register, he heard the low warning growl again behind him.

  Ezio squinted through the sheets of rain and saw that the wolf was lamed in one leg, but hadn't given up the fight. The animal stood on three legs, its forepaw bleeding profusely and held tight to its chest. The creature's eyes were dark and murderous. Ezio stared in surprise at the bright blood that spilled over the rain-slick fur, far too much for a lamed wolf and yet more than enough for the wounded man controlling the creature. Ezio's eyes flicked back to Bella; numbly, he registered the frail sway of her body as she stubbornly gripped the heavy club that was sinking under its own weight.

  "Bella--!" The scream registered in his mind, but never reached his lips. The enraged magical construct leapt forward and Ezio heard through the rain the startled gasp of pain and fear that ripped from the girl's lungs as she fell backward under the weight of the wolf.

  "No!" He jumped to his feet, and the world swam sickeningly around him; he had forgotten his own blood loss. Dimly, he saw the wolf tear furiously at his bride's throat, and he stumbled forward drunkenly. "No!" he cried again, and the wolf pulled away from the girl to stare in his direction. For a moment their eyes locked, and Ezio imagined he saw something human in the creature's eyes. "Regret?" His clouded mind registered the emotion as if in a dream. Then the wolf leapt to its three unwounded feet and hurled itself through the bars of the silver fence and into the dark forest beyond.

  Ezio stumbled forward, falling to his knees beside the wounded girl. "Bella, Bella," he crooned uselessly. His claws slashed across his chest as he pulled his shirt away from his body and pressed it frantically to her torn and bleeding neck. The shirt immediately bloomed red with blood, and Ezio knew that the wound was too deep and too wide to staunch. He felt tears sting his eyes as he cradled the young woman to his chest.

  "Ezio?" The voice was so faint that he worried he had imagined it.

  "Yes! Yes, Bella?" He cupped his hand behind the girl's head and leaned her back gently. His face hovered over hers, trying to provide relief from the thickly pouring rain.

  "Are you all right?" she asked weakly. He nodded helplessly, his throat too constricted with sorrow to speak. She smiled at him, the same beautiful smile she had used not an hour before to reassure him that she would be with him again soon. "I'm glad," she said softly. "You've ... been ... so kind ..." Her voice trailed off slowly.

  Ezio choked back a sob as the girl's eyes closed. "No, no," he murmured into her hair. His murmur grew into a wail. "No, no, no, no!" He lay her gently back onto the cold ground and stared in horror at his own blood-drenched hands. "She's dead," he thought numbly. "She died for me."

  Blinking back tears, he threw back his head and howled miserably into the storm.

  Chapter 19 - Marchetta

  It was gray morning when the cart pulled tentatively over the hill and Marchetta received her first sight of the castle.

  "See? There it is!" Fiorita's arm shot out to point at the building that dominated the little valley. Tendrils of mist -- the aftermath of yesterday's drenching downpour -- curled over the valley and gave the castle a sinister, ugly look.

  Marchetta pursed her lips and glanced over at Cienzo. The man seemed on the verge of a breakdown; the slight trembling that had shook his frame since Venizia had told him that he was coming on this trip had escalated into violent shaking.

  "Is this it?" Venizia asked him sternly. "Is this where you left her?" He nodded nervously, but a look of puzzlement crossed his face. "What is it?" she asked sharply, glancing warily at the forest that hemmed in around them.

  "The gate ..." His voice trailed off, and Marchetta squinted at the black fence that ringed the property. On second inspection, she realized that the fence was actually a dull silver that disappeared in the gray morning under a thick coating of black tarnish. She exchanged a quick glance with Mama, before guiding the mule to a stop before the gate. Marchetta handed the reins to Venizia and hopped out of the cart.

  "No--!" Cienzo cried out, his voice a high squeak of panic as she reached out to unlatch the gate. Marchetta glanced back at him and then tentatively brushed her fingers against the gate latch. To her astonishment, the entire gate dissolved into dust at he
r touch. Marchetta leapt backward from the swirling black dust that settled slowly into the wet ground.

  "What is this?" she asked, her voice sharp with tension. Cienzo shrugged and looked miserable. Cautiously, she grabbed the side of the cart and swung herself back into her seat, and Mama cracked the reins gently to urge the nervous mule forward.

  Marchetta shivered as they passed where the gate had been. Looking to her left and her right, she could still see the fence on either side, somehow intact even after a large section had vanished into dust. From this angle, the remaining bars of the fence seemed semi-transparent, as though ready to puff into dust at the first stiff breeze.

  Vigorously, she rubbed the sleeves of her gown; the chill in the air and the stillness of the valley were starting to get to her. "Poor Bella," she thought. Marchetta couldn't imagine abandoning anyone to this gloomy valley. And now, after the incident with the gate, she could no longer hold to the belief that all the magic in Cienzo's and Fiorita's stories was nothing more than flights of fancy.

  Not that she had disbelieved her sister for a moment on the more mundane aspects of her story. When Fiorita had come riding up to the front porch with a strange man in tow -- and after Venizia and Marchetta had nearly collapsed in relief to see that Cienzo had not spirited away another girl after all -- Marchetta had believed her sister immediately when she swore she had seen Bella.

  Convincing Mama had taken longer. Marchetta could see that she was anxious at the thought of taking her daughters into a situation that she considered dangerous. Marchetta had argued that they could take Cienzo as ballast in case Bella's captor turned violent and Venizia had considered this for a long moment before setting her mouth grimly and nodding.

  Marchetta had been less inclined to take along the young man that Fiorita had picked up on the road, but he had solved the problem by begging off the expedition. Fiorita had been disappointed, but not even her disapproving frown could persuade him; he had kissed her hand and told her that he was at her service for anything else she might require of him, before slinking guiltily out the door. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," was Marchetta's opinion, but she knew better than to voice this to her little sister.

  A dip in the road shook the cart and Marchetta grabbed at the side for support. Her eyes were drawn back to the mass of thorns and broken branches that ringed the estate behind them. Here and there, bright red roses shone through the fog, but even from a distance they seemed limp and dying. She nearly leapt from the cart in surprise when Fiorita suddenly yelled beside her. "Look!" Fiorita was pointing frantically at the dilapidated orchard situated in front of the castle, her face contorted with emotion.

  Marchetta swiveled her head and felt her chest tighten at the sight of a shrouded body, lying motionless on a stone bench in the garden. She heard Cienzo's choked cry, and saw him scramble out of the cart and run to the still figure. Beside her, she felt Fiorita gasping for breath; Mama dropped the reins and wrapped her arms tight around the girl to keep her from jumping down and following Cienzo. The wail that went up from their stepfather confirmed their fears. "She's past rescue now," Marchetta thought, blinking back the sudden tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Marchetta glimpsed a man at the edge of the overgrown orchard, watching them intently from within the shadows. She looked over at Mama, but Venizia was too occupied with calming Fiorita to notice the stranger. Driven more by anger than sense, Marchetta stepped down from the cart and stalked towards the man.

  She studied him carefully as she approached, wary of any sudden moves he might make. He was older than she, and to her eyes even less attractive than she found most men. His face was weary and burdened; one arm was thickly bandaged from elbow to neck, and the other carried a heavy pack slung over his shoulder. He watched her approach with a sad lack of interest, making no move to either flee or attack her.

  "Are you the magician, then?" she asked caustically.

  He hesitated at the question. "I suppose I am."

  "You killed her?" Her hands were clenching and unclenching with anger. She folded her arms over her chest and stared at him.

  "I ..." His eyes flicked over to the shrouded body being cradled gently by the sobbing Cienzo. "She was killed by a wolf," he said quietly.

  Marchetta narrowed her eyes at him. "A wolf." Her voice was flat. "And not a magical beast?"

  His body tensed and he stood a little straighter. When he spoke, there was an edge to his voice. "That's what I said. You're her family?"

  "I'm her sister."

  His eyes swept over her warily -- "Not what you expected, is it?" Marchetta thought coldly -- but at last he nodded. "I see," he said. His eyes flicked back to Bella and lingered for a long moment. "I'm glad you came. Please take her home and ..." His voice trailed off.

  "Where are you going?" she demanded. "You've got a lot to answer for."

  "You can't stop me."

  "No?" She stepped forward, her arm outstretched to grab the wrist of his wounded arm, but he pulled back further into the shadows and she hesitated. "I can't let him hurt Mama and Fiorita," she thought. She looked back for them, and panicked when she realized they weren't in the cart where she had last seen them; her heartbeat returned to normal when she registered that they were standing beside Bella's body, Venizia's arm wrapped protectively around Fiorita's shoulders.

  When she turned back to the man, he was gone. She spun around in a quick, tight circle, her eyes darting over the misty castle lawns. "There!" she thought triumphantly; a thin outline, almost as insubstantial as the crumbling gate, trudged through the fog.

  "Hey!" she shouted, and the outline trembled and resolved itself back into the color and shape of the magician. He didn't acknowledge her further, and continued steadily up the hill, clutching his pack with his un-bandaged hand.

  "Wait!" Marchetta swung her head to see Fiorita stumble towards the man, one hand raised out to him in supplication. He paused and looked back at her -- startled, perhaps, by the urgency in her voice. Fiorita took another step toward the road, but Mama caught her and held her firmly back.

  "Flavio sends his love," she called up the hill. "He says you're always welcome with him, that you'll always be his brother."

  The man frowned deeply and looked intensely puzzled for a moment before calling back, "He's a good boy. Tell him I won't be seeing him again." Then he turned and started up the road once more.

  Marchetta took a step after him, but Venizia shook her head as she held Fiorita close.

  "Let's ... get her on the cart," Venizia said quietly, and Marchetta understood. "At least we can give her a proper burial," she thought sadly.

  Between the two of them, they were able to gently lift Bella's pale body onto the cart. Marchetta helped Venizia into the driver's seat and handed her the reins; Fiorita, lost in her quiet sobs, allowed herself to be guided up to the seat next to Mama.

  "Come on," Marchetta said sharply to Cienzo. "We're going." She walked quietly beside the slowly moving cart, bitterly wishing that it was a living, breathing Bella to whom she was giving up her seat in the cart, and not this cold shell that deserved so much better.

  Behind her, she could hear Cienzo following, but she didn't care enough to look back at him. "All this for your worthless life," she thought angrily, hurling the mental accusation at him. They were passing the evil-looking hedge of thorns, still dotted with wilting red roses.

  "All this for a stupid rose," she thought, frustrated to tears. She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, and then in a fit of pique she reached out and plucked a small rose from the hedge in passing. She cradled the rose in her hand for a long moment before tucking the slender blossom gently next to Bella's cold, pale face.

  Chapter 20 - Rosella

  Rosella grinned as she walked away from the villa, the warm evening air punctuated by the crashes and screams that were such music to her ears. It was always fun to hear the humans run around in their overwrought panic.

  She tilted her head back, relis
hing the scent of the nearby sea. "So inspirational," she murmured happily. She was particularly proud of the form she had given her latest human; there was so much more variety with what one could do with sea-beasts. Of course, occasionally they couldn't get to the water quickly enough to survive the transition from lungs to gills, but she couldn't be expected to coddle her humans. "It wouldn't be punishment if I held their hand through it," she thought, giggling happily to herself.

  Now the question was where to go next? Most of the humans at the coronation had appeared to be from the same coastal area as her target. As much as she loved the inspiration provided by the sea, she felt stifled if she worked with the same area twice in a row. "Maybe a lakeside estate?" she pondered. That could be the best of two worlds: the forest and the water. "If I can find a girl, I can make a weeping willow," she thought, brightening considerably. Trees were always a great source of amusement.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a slight tingling that spread steadily through the vines that wrapped her arms. She frowned; someone was running out of their time, which shouldn't be possible. She'd only laid three curses since her last hibernation. Rosella pursed her lips -- she didn't like to be interrupted -- but curiosity won out over her irritation.

  Closing her eyes in concentration, she plucked a single thorn from her vines, held it between forefinger and thumb, and used it to slowly cut the air in front of her. The air shimmered and rippled before resolving into a cool forest, deep with the shadows of the approaching dusk. She stepped quickly through the portal and felt it seal shut behind her with the soft sound of sucking air.

  Rosella looked about her slowly, gathering her bearings and allowing her eyes, so recently dazzled by the bright seaside sunset, to adjust to the dusk of the forest. Turning to her right, she frowned to see the dark outline of a familiar castle; beside her stood a thorny hedge, as recognizable to her as her own handiwork as if she had signed it. And yet, something was not right here: every rose had been stripped from the hedge, leaving only bare thorn-covered branches.