Snow White and Rose Red- The Curse of the Huntsman

by Lilly Fang

I could not help but smile. “Beauty is a curse.”

  He gave a throaty chuckle. “Then you are cursed indeed.”

  I laughed at that. “I am serious. Here is what I have learned in my short life: beauty brings scorn from women, desire from men, and truth from none.”

  “And that is what you want most? The truth?” He seemed genuinely perplexed by me now, as perplexed as I was by him.

  “Beauty fades. The truth remains.”

  “The truth can be cruel.”

  I gently touched my hand to his forehead. “What is it that happened to you, Huntsman, to make you so scornful?”

  “You can see the scars on my face, Lady. They make me a monster.”

  I traced one of the scars with my fingertip. “I don’t see a monster,” I said. “I see a man.”

  He shifted and cried out in pain.

  In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to take that pain away, no matter if he thought poorly of me. I began to hum a little, and when I saw his eyes catch and hold on me, I broke into the full song.

  There had been a beautiful moment where I could almost feel him forgetting his pain… And then the others had arrived.

  It had been a sweet moment, too sweet to have been right for Latham Rosewood to interrupt it. The memory of how he bought my cloak came back to me, unsettling me. I shifted in bed, feeling ill at ease. I couldn’t exactly say what was so wrong with Latham Rosewood. I knew that I should be happy. He could provide for me, and in turn I could provide for my mother and Rose. It was possible that would be enough to make me happy. So why did I feel like the world would end the day he took me for his bride? It was true that he wanted me as some sort of prize, a trophy that he could display showing the village that he had taken me from the other boys. But surely there were worse men that I could marry. Surely I owed my family this much, to be able to trade my useless beauty for something. I tossed and turned, but the memory of his hand on my face would not let me rest. I wanted to scrub my skin clean.

  I stood, then, and went outside. Before I even reached the well, the memory of Latham began to fade. It could have been the moon and stars in the sky, or it could have been the warm, sweet air of the night, but the moment was too sweet to give to thoughts of Latham. But I did not want to go back to bed. The truth was that I wanted to see the Huntsman, and while there was little chance I would cross his path out in the village, there was no chance at all that I would see him if I stayed inside.

  There is a certain feeling of floating when you search for something that you have no way of finding. Or rather, I suppose I could have marched straight up to the Rosewood’s manor and knocked, but that would hardly be proper and Latham would surely think that I’d come for him. Instead, I put my faith in chance and floated on.

  I meandered through the darkness of the night feeling a little lost and empty, but not afraid. Rain clouds threatened overhead, which meant that I was safe as can be—if any danger came, I could pull ice down from the clouds. Besides, there were a few scattered people still out gossiping or, paid by the Rosewoods, clearing out the mess from the festivities.

  I heard the sound of metal on rock, and turning, I saw the Huntsman sharpening an axe. I was drawn forward as a moth is pulled to a flame.

  When his eyes landed on me, he fumbled and dropped the axe. He swore as the handle landed on his foot.

  “You,” he said grimly as he bent to pick it up.

  “Me,” I agreed. I could not help smiling.

  “You should not be out so late at night,” he said.

  With his tone, I could not tell if it was disapproval or concern that he was voicing. “I couldn’t sleep. Why are you out at such a late hour? Shouldn’t you be recovering from your wounds?”

  “I don’t need much time to recover,” he said with a shrug. “You should go home.”

  “It wasn’t just that I couldn’t sleep,” I said, feeling brave. “I was looking for you.”

  That seemed to alarm him. “Why?”

  “I wanted to talk with you. You’re different from everyone here. You are most unusual, you know.”

  “I’m used to that. Being unusual. Monstrous. A horror.” He looked away, and I knew he was thinking of his scars.

  I shook my head, an amused smile playing at my lips. “That isn’t what I meant at all. You don’t horrify me, Huntsman. You puzzle me. Sometimes I think you hate me.”

  “No,” he said, looking startled. In that moment, there was something longing in his eyes as they held mine. I wanted to reach out and hold him, to know what he was holding back. In that moment, he wasn’t guarded and bitter. “I don’t hate you,” he said.

  I seized on this. “Then what is it?”

  “I know the difference between us. I’m not going to join the line of men dancing for your favor,” he said with a snort. The dark and the late hour seemed to make him free with his words.

  I hid a smile. “Not exactly. But instead you seem to hate me all the more for it.”

  “Monsters don’t always like to be reminded that such beauty is possible in the world,” he said, turning away.

  “You must stop saying that. You’re not a monster,” I said, touching his face.

  He jumped back as though I’d burned him. “There’s a great distance separating us,” he said swiftly. “Stop playing that it’s not there.”

  With that, he turned and stomped off.

  I sighed and turned to go, but Jacob stood blocking my path.

  “Hello, Jacob,” I greeted him, attempting a smile and hoping desperately that he hadn’t heard my conversation with the Huntsman. “What keeps you awake at this late hour?”

  He ignored my question. “I hope the Huntsman wasn’t bothering you, Snow.” When Jacob’s eyes flickered over to the Huntsman’s retreating form, they held pure malice. Latham Rosewood was not someone Jacob could oppose, but this stranger was someone he could turn his suspicion and hatred on.

  I shook my head. “No, not at all. Thank you for your concern. Now, I really must be back.”

  I raced back home and did not slow until I was safely in bed.

  I knew I should be wary of strangers. I knew I should be cautious. But something about this Huntsman who spoke in riddles and scorned my beauty fascinated me. I wanted to hear him speak again, not just to hear the sound of his voice but to find out what he would say next. I fell asleep that night wondering if I would ever know what secrets lurked behind his guarded eyes.

  Chapter 8: The Mirror – Rose Red

  I was up early the next morning. It was my turn to prepare breakfast. I mixed some water with some oats and set the pot over the hearth to warm into a rich oatmeal.

  That done, I looked out the window. The faintest light of dawn was just beginning to turn the clouds a vibrant pink hue. I always pretended I was just looking out at the morning, but some part of me knew that I was looking for William. Today, however, the image of the beast was also lurking in my mind, a sight I was eager never to repeat.

  Suddenly, I saw William. He was carrying an armful of wood and walking straight towards our cottage.

  I opened the door before he knocked, hoping Snow would stay asleep.

  “Rose,” he said, startled. “I wanted to speak with you and Snow.”

  “Snow is not up yet,” I said, smiling warmly at him.

  “I imagine it was a late night for all of you,” he said tersely.

  I had never heard him speak a harsh word before. I pulled back a little. “What is wrong, William?”

  “Your mother came to our door and borrowed our horse. I know she’s gone. And I know you and your sister were with the Huntsman last night in the forest. Every part of that is a bad idea! You don’t know anything about the Huntsman. He could be very dangerous. All of the strangers, actually, and the dark forest as well. You should never go into the woods after dark. I thought you had better sense, Rose. And the strangers are more dangerous than they seem. Please tell Snow what I said.”

  My heart sank. So he was jealous.
I willed myself not to cry, though tears crept into my eyes. “I will tell her your message.”

  “Good. Thank you.” William’s eyes darted around, as though something had startled him. William pressed his armful of firewood into my arms. “That should see you through the day.”

  “How much do I owe you?” I asked.

  “You know I don’t take payment from you.” He looked back at me, confused.

  I wished I had enough coin to fling something in his face and storm off, but it was an empty bluff. There was nothing in my pockets.

  “Thank you,” I said through gritted teeth, and then I turned and stormed back inside.

  I added an extra two cups of oats the pot on the hearth. When the oatmeal was done, Snow was still sleeping, so I left her portion and took the rest, hoping that the strangers were fond of oatmeal.

  I suppose it will always be a failing in me that I am willful. I carried our pot full of oatmeal in my hand as a reason to visit the Rosewoods and walked quickly so the meal wouldn’t grow too cold before I arrived.

  The Rosewoods lived at the very top of the hill that our village rested on. They called their home a ‘manor’ though in truth it was not so very much finer than the rest of our homes. It was larger, I would admit that, but there was no polished gold or silver about.

  I knocked at the door and Bree Rosewood, Latham’s younger sister, opened it.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m here to see the strangers,” I said. “May I come in?”

  I hoped that Bree wouldn’t ask me what business I had—if I admitted I was only bringing oatmeal, she might very well just take it from me and leave.

  Luckily, Bree did not seem interested in either me or my errand. “They’re in the back. I will tell Mother you’re here.”

  She went out the back door of the cottage to the apple orchard that the Rosewoods kept on their land. I wasted no time in heading to the back rooms where the strangers could be staying.

  Sure enough, I heard footsteps and muttered words coming from the room at the end of the hall. I crept as quietly as I could up to the door that stood just barely ajar.

  I peered through the opening and saw a cracked and broken mirror that had been carefully pieced back together.

  Suddenly, there was movement—someone walked by and I managed to just catch a glimpse of the reflection in the mirror. I clasped my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming, for I had never seen such horror.

  Witch was the word that came to mind. The woman I saw was hundreds of years beyond the eldest in our village. Her brittle white hair had fallen out in clumps. Her eyes were glassed over and white. Her skin was wrinkled and warped beyond recognition. Warts covered her face and hands, and her back was hunched over. Her teeth were worn down and yellow, but sharply pointed. The nails on her fingers were more like claws.

  But as suddenly as the woman’s image appeared in the mirror, just as suddenly it was gone. I leaned over more, trying to get a better look, but she was must have gone. The only people in the room were the three strangers.

  I leaned closer to hear what they were saying.

  Imerine was sitting in a chair, her eyes closed, looking as though she slept. Shell paced the room angrily, sometimes staring at the ground and sometimes casting scathing looks at the Huntsman.

  The Huntsman knelt before her, the way a knight would kneel before a witch.

  “I am beginning to question your loyalty, Huntsman. I’ve seen you with that girl. We have no quarrel with the Were,” Shell said. “Why would you fight the beast?”

  “The beast was going to attack.”

  “It is no concern of ours if that creature gobbles up a stray girl or two!”

  The Huntsman looked up at her. “My master, it was going to attack me.”

  Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped and spun around to find Latham.

  “Bree said you were here to visit,” he said. “What are you doing back here?”

  I held up the pot of oatmeal as my defense. “I brought breakfast. To welcome the strangers who were attacked.” My heart hammered in my chest and I hoped he couldn’t hear the lie in my voice. “I’ll be back tomorrow to get the pot.”

  “Thank you.” Latham held up a bright red apple. “That will go well with the fresh apples from the orchard. We were just picking some. Would you like to go in and meet the strangers?”

  I shook my head, my resolve to investigate them entirely gone. Whoever they were, there was something sinister to them. “Oh, no. I must be going.” I gave him a smile and, as I seemed to have exhausted anything I could say, I tried to slip past him.

  “Hey, wait,” he said, reaching out to catch my arm. “Take some apples with you. As our thanks for your kindness. Bree! Bring some apples! I hope you and Snow White enjoy them. Please give her my regards.”

  I forced myself to nod. “Of course.”

  Bree bounded up a moment later with a dozen apples in a beautiful, ornate basket.

  “My thanks,” I said, taking the basket from her and fleeing.

  By the time I’d returned to the cottage, Snow was awake. I explained where I’d gone and held up the basket of apples to ward off Snow’s rebuke.

  “I thought we’d agreed to avoid the strangers,” Snow said slowly.

  “I was curious,” I grumbled, not wanting to mention William’s warning much less why it had upset me so.

  “Be careful while Mother’s away,” was all Snow said.

  It was a long, hot morning of gathering flowers. An hour into the work, the water the Rosewoods had set out was entirely gone. When the midday break came, I decided to take a journey back to town to visit the well and eat my midday meal with Snow.

  At the well, I found the one-eyed Shell sitting at the well and staring down it.

  She looked up at me as I approached.

  “Hello,” I said, keeping my voice light, though fear raced through me that she would somehow know that I had overheard her earlier.

  “Good afternoon,” she replied politely without even a hint of recognition.

  I relaxed. “Are you enjoying your stay in our town?” I asked. I placed my bucket on the hook and lowered the rope down. After a few seconds, I heard a splash as the bucket sank into the water.

  “Yes, very much. The Rosewoods are too kind,” she said. “And your festival is enchanting. It’s a miracle that so many roses grow here. Do you know that roses don’t usually grow so numerous without careful tending. But you are so fortunate that these do. So much beauty in such a little village.”

  “Thank you,” I said, as though I was speaking on behalf of the village. I heaved the little bucket up. It wasn’t a very arduous task, but with the noonday sun beating down on me, my forehead was beaded with sweat by the time I finished.

  I took my cup out and sank it into the bucket, then raised it. I glanced at Shell and saw her staring at me.

  “Would you like some?” I asked, offering the cup to her first.

  She gave me a dazzling smile. “I would. Thank you very much.” She took the cup in her hands as though it were a precious thing and sipped deeply before handing it back.

  I submerged the cup again, but before I could drink, the bucket and my cup were knocked to the ground. I turned to see Lavender and Hazel. Lavender’s hand was still outstretched from where she had knocked my things over. The water pooled out of the bucket—I was too shocked to even try to right it—and quickly sank into the dry earth around the well.

  Lavender’s other hand was wrapped in cloth. Someone must have treated the burn.

  “We know what you did,” Hazel hissed.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said.

  “You burned my hand,” Lavender reminded me. “And then you fed Alice to the beast.” She nodded to Shell. “The beast that attacked the strangers.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Then why were you in the dark forest? You and your sister were both in the forest when the Huntsman fought the best. Why were you there? What bu
siness did you have in the woods in the middle of the night?”

  “I was trying to save Alice,” I snapped back.

  “Sure. You and Alice were such fast friends,” Lavender said.

  “I may not have liked her, but I’d never wish such a death on anyone.”

  “You see? You admit you hate her!”

  “That isn’t what I said.”

  Lavender leaned close to me. “You’ll pay for this, Rose. We’re going to tell everyone.”

  They both turned and left.

  “What a strange development. A witch hunt would hardly suit this village,” Shell said.

  I turned to look at her, feeling exposed to have had such a petulant exchange in front of a stranger. I had intended to apologize, but something about the look in her eyes was too cold, too calculating.

  Shell shook her head. “Oh, excuse me. I don’t mean to speak so.”

  I smiled politely at her and then lowered my bucket again to pull up more water. This time, I drank and then carried the rest of the water home, but I still could not shake the strange feeling she gave me, or Lavender and Hazel’s ominous threat.

  At our cottage, I found Snow already waiting with our meal prepared.

  “Salted pork this time,” Snow explained as I sat down beside her and picked up the bread and meat sandwich she’d prepared.

  Then she really looked at me for the first time and saw that my face was flushed and my eyes brimmed with tears. “What happened, Red?”

  I quietly explained what had happened with the girls at the well.

  Snow was on her feet before I could even finish the story.

  “I will kill them,” she said icily.

  I grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. “No. It will be too suspicious if two girls turn up as icicles in the middle of summer.”

  Snow gave a wry smile. “I suppose.”

  “Besides, their grief is making them more cruel than usual. But aren’t they sort of right? If the beast is drawn to magic, if it’s hunting us, then isn’t it our fault that it’s here at all?”

  Snow’s frown told me that she had already considered this and knew there wasn’t a good answer. “Mother said for us to leave it be.”