Blind Beauty and Other Tales of Redemption

by Meredith Leigh Burton

  “Me, of course.”

  Marcus turned his head, his eyes fastening onto the gleaming brass of a candelabra. The candles winked on and off as if they were laughing. Marcus placed his hand to his head. “I’m dreaming.”

  “Sorry, chap. Didn’t think to bring other drinks. Just ask for what you want.”

  “You’re a candelabra. You’re speaking to me.” Marcus’ head swam.

  “Excellent observation, my good man. Actually, I’m a servant, not a mere object. Now, do you want tea? Or we have some excellent raspberry cordial.”

  If he played along, he’d awaken faster. At least, Marcus hoped this was the case. “I haven’t had raspberry cordial since I was a boy,” he said. “I’ll have that, please.”

  He watched in shock as a glass bottle suddenly appeared before his eyes. It hovered in the air just above the table. The candles winked again.

  “You’ll have to pour it, chap. Liquid and flame, you know.”

  Marcus reached out his hand and touched the bottle. It was solid. Suddenly, he laughed. He hadn’t laughed in so long. He began to eat. Everything was cooked to perfection, and the cordial was light and sweet.

  When Marcus finished eating, the candelabra jumped from the table and hovered in the doorway, blinking on and off in an expectant manner. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  Marcus followed the flickering candles down several corridors to a chamber with a large four-poster bed. He suddenly realized how tired he was. The bed linens were turned down, and the moment that Marcus sank into the mattress’ embrace, he fell into a deep slumber.

  The next morning, the same candelabra awakened Marcus and showed him to the dining hall. After a sumptuous breakfast, he prepared to leave. Feeling foolish for talking to candlesticks (apparently he wasn’t dreaming after all), Marcus asked, “How might I thank my host? I haven’t seen him. Last night, he stayed in the shadows, and—”

  “He did what any self-respecting host would do. No need to thank him.” The candelabra led Marcus to the castle door. It opened, and Marcus stepped outside into brilliant sunlight.

  Dew glimmered on the pathway, making the roses sparkle like rubies and pearls. As Marcus walked toward the gate, he couldn’t help admiring them. Images of Jenna filled his mind. She’d asked that he bring her a single rose. All he was bringing home was sorrow. Surely he could bring home some beauty as well. As he surveyed the roses, he saw a most unusual one. The rose shimmered with rainbow hues of brilliance. He held out his hand, ready to pluck the flower.

  Footfalls erupted behind him, and something pushed against him—a large, angry something. Marcus had just enough time to glimpse a gaping mouth and bloodshot eyes before falling to his knees. He felt something sharp press against his shoulder.

  “Is this proper payment for my hospitality?” The thunderous voice made the marrow in Marcus’ bones congeal. The voice continued, “I give you lodging and feed you from my own larder. In return, you steal from me? For this transgression, you must die.”

  “I meant no harm. Please have mercy,” Marcus whispered.

  “And would you show mercy to someone who robbed you?” The voice was still angry, but there was an underlying note of curiosity.

  Marcus swallowed. “I-I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

  “Then I see no reason to honor your request.” The speaker stepped in front of Marcus.

  A monster stood before him, a towering beast with the body of a wolf and the head of a deer. A colossal pair of antlers jutted from the beast’s head. They were crowned with many sharp points. Yet it was the face that struck terror into Marcus’ heart. It was twisted into a hideous scowl, and the sagging left cheek bore a crimson-hued mark upon it. The beast lowered his head, preparing to impale Marcus with his antlers. Then something in his protruding eyes changed, and he spoke harshly, the words tumbling out in a rush.

  “Your face. It bears a strong resemblance to—do you have a daughter who cannot see?”

  Marcus blinked. “Y-yes,” he stammered. “How did you know?” Then the memories came to him. Marcus’ heart plummeted. “You’re the beast that tried to attack my—”

  “I’d advise you to stop talking.” The beast’s tone was deadly. “You may go. In a month’s time, you will return to me and suffer my wrath. If your daughter chooses to come in your place, I’ll accept her instead. But she must come willingly.”

  Knives thrust themselves into Marcus’ heart. “I’ll not bargain with the likes of you.”

  “Would you rather die here and now? Either you come back, or I’ll make you return. I’ll tell my friends, and they’ll summon a zephyr to collect you.” He shifted his gaze to the roses. “I’m giving you a chance to tell your family goodbye, so I’d take advantage of it if I were you.”

  Marcus had no choice but to obey. He rose and turned toward the castle gate. As he did so, his eyes alighted upon the spot where the rainbow-hued rose had stood. It was no longer there. Had it all been a trap? “I’ll return,” he whispered.

  “Very well. I’ve instructed the roses to call forth a zephyr to take you home.”

  Marcus tried to comprehend what the beast might mean, but there wasn’t time, for a gentle breeze wrapped itself around him, and he felt himself being lifted into the air.

  Rustling voices repeatedly whispered one word: Sleep.

  Marcus couldn’t resist and sank into a heavy slumber.

  When he awoke, he found himself in the apple orchard his daughters loved so much. Weeping, he trudged homeward.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marcus completed his story, his eyes brimming with tears. Jenna’s head swam in shock.

  Reinhardt was the first to speak. “If this extraordinary story is true, then we must kill that fiend.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know where that demon’s den is.” Marcus stared at his daughters’ stricken faces and Reinhardt’s incredulous one. “Think I’m mad if you want, Reinhardt. I know what I saw and heard. I’ll leave in a month, and I’m sure I’ll find the castle again.”

  “I don’t think you’re mad, Marcus.” Reinhardt spoke softly, his voice trembling. “I myself have seen . . .” His voice trailed away.

  Jenna spoke, her voice taut. “He said he’d accept me if I went willingly, and I’ll do just that.”

  “Don’t say such things, Jenna,” Mirabel snapped.

  “It’s my fault Poppa’s in trouble. I asked for the rose.”

  “You couldn’t have known this would happen. If it’s true, then I’ll go,” Mirabel said.

  “Don’t you understand? I can’t see. That’s why he wants me to come. I won’t run away because his looks won’t frighten me.”

  Marcus spoke with finality. “This discussion is pointless. I’m going back there.”

  Jenna said nothing more then, for she knew her words would profit little.

  On the night before Poppa was supposed to leave, she stole from the cottage, her guidance tool in hand. She’d go to the apple orchard first, just for one last visit with the humpbacked tree. From there, she didn’t know what to do, but if Poppa had found the castle, she felt certain she would too.

  Crickets serenaded Jenna as she stealthily crept through the orchard. She reached her tree, pausing to caress its rough bark. Through all these years, it still stood strong. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

  “What’re you doing?”

  Jenna’s stomach clenched at Mirabel’s taut voice. She sighed and turned from the tree. “Why must you always interfere, Miri?”

  “Are you mad? Do you think I didn’t know your intentions? Confound it, Jenny!”

  “I have to do this,” Jenna said. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “You’re saying you want Poppa to die?” Jenna hated asking the question. Yet words poured from her in brittle fragments. “I won’t let Poppa die. I killed Mother—”

  Mirabel slapped her, a stinging blow that caused Jenna to cry out. The slap didn’t hurt, but th
e betrayal did. Mirabel had never struck her.

  “Stop this!” Mirabel hissed. “You didn’t kill Mother. How dare you say such a thing?”

  “I did! She told me to stir the soup, and I ran from the house, leaving the fire burning. I told her I hated her. I was so angry.” Jenna trembled, her eyes burning worse than ever. She swallowed down the sadness, feeling it scorch her throat. She abruptly turned and began walking away, paying no heed to Mirabel’s frantic cries. Even when Mirabel grabbed at her, she shrank from her grasp and continued doggedly onward.

  It was then that she heard a low, gentle whisper. “Jenna.”

  She blinked, trying to determine where the voice was coming from. “Hello?”

  “I’ll help you. Just stop walking so that the zephyr might lift you.”

  Jenna shuddered. The voice was strange, a rustling voice that did not sound human. She felt a gentle touch upon her back, and the ground shifted beneath her. Suddenly, she was lifted into the air, and a breeze stroked her face. The breeze carried the fragrance of apples. “Sleep,” the voice whispered. “When you awaken, he’ll be near you.”

  Jenna struggled against the breeze. Her heart pounded with terror. Then the voice spoke again. “Tecoptra bade me help you. I remember the day the castle-dweller bade me frighten you. Afterward, I wept with remorse, as did he. Now I can make amends.”

  Jenna swallowed. “You’re the Tree with the Humped Back. You can speak?”

  Rustling laughter surrounded her. “Of course, although I don’t usually speak your language. Tecoptra has enabled me to do so. Sleep now. I’ve instructed the zephyr to carry you to the castle.”

  Jenna felt so tired. She sank into the apple-scented embrace of the breeze and slept.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mirabel gasped as she observed the impossible. The apple tree moved of its own accord, its branches rustling repeatedly. She saw Jenna standing stock-still, and although Mirabel tried to go to her, her feet wouldn’t budge. A gentle breeze blew, and Jenna was lifted into the air, immediately vanishing from sight. Mirabel screamed and began to run. Yet how could one catch the wind? She wept hysterically, her heart breaking in two.

  “Miri? What’s wrong?” A voice rang behind her, and she spun around, crying in relief as she saw Reinhardt entering the orchard.

  “It’s Jenna. She’s been taken by sorcery.” Trembling, she pointed at the tree, a searing anger filling her heart. “It’s this tree’s doing. I-I must—”

  “Calm down!” Reinhardt spoke sharply, reaching for her hand. His face wore a concerned frown. “I’ll take you home.”

  “No. I have to find Jenna.”

  Reinhardt took her hand. “You can’t abandon Marcus. Just come with me, and we’ll determine what to do.” He led Mirabel from the orchard and to the cottage. When he opened the door, he saw that the room was empty. “Jenna left to find the castle. Marcus has gone after her, hasn’t he?” he asked sharply.

  “I don’t know. He was asleep when I left. I followed her—”

  “You must have something to settle your nerves.” Reinhardt reached into the cloth bag he always carried. He murmured, “It’s fortunate a doctor never gets any rest. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found you. I was visiting the Willis boy.” He drew a glass bottle from the bag and uncorked it. The scent of raspberries filled the cottage. “Sit down. This cordial will help.”

  Mirabel sank onto the cot in the corner of the room. Reinhardt placed the bottle into her hand. “Drink it all. Doctor’s orders.”

  Mirabel accepted the drink, raising her eyebrows in surprise at the heady taste. “It’s delicious,” she said.

  Reinhardt smiled. “Now, tell me everything.” He sat on the stool beside the cot, waiting expectantly.

  Mirabel began her story, her voice trembling. As she spoke, she felt soft fingers of fatigue caress her mind, and she stumbled over her words. Her eyes began to close, and though she fought against sleep, it claimed her with vicious insistence.

  Reinhardt rose. When he spoke, his voice was very gentle. “Don’t worry, Miri. I’ll take care of everything. Sleep, lovely one. Sleep and forget your sorrow as I cannot.”

  He bent and tenderly stroked her sleep-slackened cheek. “I had to do it, Miri. You’d have followed me otherwise. There’ll be no lasting effects. You know I’d never harm you.” He turned and left the cottage.

  Reinhardt stood before the humpbacked apple tree. He caressed its bark, his heart hammering with fear and anticipation. “Take me there as you did the girl,” he whispered.

  “You’re a very sad man.” The tree rustled gently, sending forth the gift of its fragrance. “Why do you hate him so?”

  Reinhardt’s face contorted. “Obey me this instant.”

  “You’ve changed so much, master.” The tree’s branches trembled with compassion. “I remember when you were a boy. You and the young girl would sit beneath my branches and read stories to each other. I remember how you’d pretend to be a knight. You’d rescue her from dragons and trolls. When you grew older, I gave you blossoms and leaves. The young woman was quite fond of apple-scented soap, wasn’t she?”

  Reinhardt reached into his bag, withdrawing a metal scalpel. His face flushed with rage. “Do you know how it feels to watch someone you love wasting away? You try every medicine known and some not known, yet nothing helps. You hold your sister in your arms as she dies. You dare remind me of my failure?”

  He plunged the scalpel into the tree’s heart. The tree writhed, a harrowing scream filling the air. Sap bled from the hole, and Reinhardt wept as he watched.

  “I cannot pass through that confounded castle gate. It won’t open to me.” His face crumpled. “Curse paltry magic! If I were an enchanter, I could force you to obey me as I could force all these trees, but I must address each of you individually. Why did you send a defenseless girl into danger? You’re a fool!”

  Reinhardt patted the tree’s trunk. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Perhaps you know no better. I can mend your wound. It’s your decision. Help me, and I’ll help you.”

  “The beast means the girl no harm. Tecoptra willed that she go to the castle. Things aren’t always what they seem, master,” the tree whispered.

  Reinhardt’s features hardened. “I must find a friend and take him home. I’ll return to you, and when I do, I advise you to obey my command. You know nothing. I’ve seen with my own eyes what that fiend is capable of.”

  “You’re a Flower Master, and a strong one at that. Your anger compels me to obey you. Yet Tecoptra is my true master. I know full well what the beast can do, but I’ve done things as well. Incidentally, my brothers and sisters will not obey you either. Not after this betrayal.” His branches rustled sadly.

  Reinhardt flinched and averted his gaze. “Your pain will increase, and your death will come much slower than you think.”

  He turned away, his mind spinning. He’d committed a heinous act, and he regretted it. Even so, he was desperate. If the tree had just listened to reason! He trudged through the orchard. Now to find Marcus. He’d take him home and try to formulate another plan. No one could pass through that castle gate unless the monster willed that they do so. Reinhardt knew this from experience. Yet he would do everything in his power to help his friend. He had failed others in the past. He would not fail now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jenna awoke to the sound of clinking cutlery. She lay upon soft linen. The scent of roses wafted around her.

  “Awake, are you?” A reverberating voice rumbled, and Jenna shrank from its harsh timbre. “I brought you some peppermint tea.”

  Jenna swallowed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The voice was amused when it said, “Don’t waste time thanking me. Just answer this one question: Did you come willingly? I found you on my morning walk. You lay on a bench in the garden. I assume the roses let you in.”

  Jenna blinked. “I came willingly,” she said. “And when someone does something nice for someone else, they shoul
d be thanked. It’s only polite.”

  The beast laughed, a rumbling sound that resembled a lion’s roar. “Politeness is irrelevant here. I want no favors.”

  Jenna sat up, and a cup of tea was placed in her hand. She sipped it gratefully. “I don’t want favors, either. I want to apologize for what happened that day. I tried to stop them from hurting you, but—”

  “Hurting me?” The beast spoke harshly. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Why, the day in the apple orchard, of course. I’m not sure what happened. Poppa grabbed me, and I heard arrows flying. I’ve never forgotten it. How did you escape?”

  “Apple orchard? I’ve never left these grounds.”

  Jenna’s mind reeled in confusion. “I don’t understand. How do you remember me, then? How did you know I couldn’t see?”

  “Because of my dream.” He spoke softly, or as softly as such a voice could speak. “It’s a recurring dream I’ve had ever since I was a boy. I see a girl who cannot see me. She meets me in an apple orchard, and we talk. She never runs away, for she has no cause for fear.” He laughed bitterly. “It’s such a relief to talk to someone, even in a dream. As we converse, we partake of peppermint drops. If I’m not dreaming of you, then the girl has your face.”

  The Tree with the Humped Back filled Jenna’s mind. After a moment, she told her story of the apple orchard from the beginning, not even omitting the portion where he had caused her to fall.

  When she finished speaking, the beast whispered, his voice shaking, “I always suspected you were real. The dream was so vivid. Yet I never dared hope. I’m going to stand beside the bed, and I want you to touch me. You cannot see, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know what I am.”

  Jenna trembled, but she held out her hand expectantly. She heard the scrape of large paws upon marble, and a gigantic head came to rest against her palm. Her fingers groped a long muzzle, a sagging left cheek with jagged fur, and protruding eyes. Then she encountered a pair of branching antlers, their multiple points sharp as thorns.