Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories

by Kaycee Browning

  Father reveals that he shares my worries as well. “It is no longer safe for you here, Rosara,” he whispers to me one evening as the village is settling down for the night. “It is time for you to go.”

  “Go? Where? Where will I be safer than here with you?” I ask, fear welling up inside me. All my former wishes of being somewhere other than in this village crumble like dust as I think that I may be sent away.

  “You are not safe from Maor,” Father says. “He is growing in favor with many of the villagers. If he tries to claim you again I may not be able to stop him. I’m not sure your jaguar friend will be able to either.” My father’s words echo my own fears. “You will never be safe as long as you are without a husband.”

  My breath catches in my throat. I cannot breathe. A husband? So few of the men here are eligible to take me as a wife even if I wanted one of them. Most are too young, too old, or already have claimed their two wives. I search my father’s eyes. Would he force me into a marriage with another man of our village, even though I love none of them?

  “Rosara,” he says and then pauses. I can see that he is carefully choosing his words. Again, one of the qualities that make him such a good leader. Would Maor be quick to listen and slow to speak? I doubt it. “I know that none of the men of our village are meant for you. Many of them support Maor, and I have no doubt that they would simply give you to him. The others are weak and would probably do the same thing in their fear.”

  My heart beats rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure what my father is going to say, but at least he agrees that no man here is right for me.

  “You need a husband who is strong,” he tells me. “A husband who will treat you as the priceless treasure you are.”

  My eyes brim with tears. My father has never before spoken to me with words like these. He has always been kind but never so tender and affectionate. I realize suddenly that he is saying goodbye.

  “There is a place far away where you can be safe,” he continues, “with a man who is worthy enough to protect you. He is the son of a chieftain, young and strong. When you were still children, his father and I agreed on your betrothal to help strengthen both of our tribes. It is time to invoke that betrothal. I am sending you to the tribe of the river people. Their ways are different from ours. There is no claiming there. They only marry if both consent, and they almost always marry for love.”

  “What if I do not consent?” I ask, wondering who is this man I’ve been betrothed to. “What if the man you have betrothed me to does not love me? What if I cannot love him? What happens to us then?”

  “Please understand,” my father persists. “This is the only way you will be safe. We have no other choice. I cannot bear to have you matched with Maor. I know you cannot bear it, either. You will leave just before dawn with Hana and Tatuie. They will accompany you through the jungle to the village of the river people. I will stay here to make sure Maor does not try to follow.”

  He is silent then. I know he is waiting for me to say something, but what is there to say? I am being banished from my own village to marry a man I have never met and will probably never love. There are no words to express how heavy my heart is at this moment.

  “You are my treasure, Rosara,” he says and leans down to kiss my face just as Tupa did not so long ago. “Be safe.”

  I try not to cry, but I cannot stop the hot tears from betraying me. Father leaves, and I lie alone in my hammock, wondering if what he said is true. Is it the only way?

  No, I decide, it is not. There is another. I need only to wait for the right moment.

  Chapter 5

  TATUIE SHAKES ME awake. The jungle is still dark in the predawn hours, and I wonder if my father’s wives slept at all in the night. Father lies in his hammock pretending to sleep, but I see his eyes shining in the darkness.

  Hana hands me a cloth filled with provisions for our trip, and we slink away from the shabono and into the embrace of the jungle.

  The tension of the last few weeks peels off me with every step I take under the great trees. The effect is immediate. I breathe more deeply and walk more assuredly under the green canopy of life. My heart is still heavy from saying goodbye to my father, but it also rejoices in being free.

  Free, that is, until we reach the village of the river people. The thought threatens to weigh me down again, but I push it away. I have a plan.

  The moment I see Tupa I will make my move. Somehow I will elude Tatuie and Hana, and, with Tupa’s help, I know I can find a home for myself in the jungle. My family will grieve over my decision, but I know in my heart that I can never be married to any man who I do not love, even if he is a chieftain’s son.

  It will be very dangerous to try to live on my own in the jungle. My tribe is not the only one that forcefully claims women as wives. I have heard rumors of other tribes that do unspeakable things to their women. But I am willing to risk the danger of living in the jungle, so long as Tupa will help me. He has been watching over me since the day we met, and I cannot help but think of him as my protector.

  I keep alert for any sign that Tupa is following along with us, but I see none. Perhaps he is not here. The first day I saw him, he spoke of returning to his family. Likely he is there now with his jaguar wife and cubs.

  For some reason the thought makes me uncomfortable, and I try to ignore the tension in my body. I will see him when I see him—that is all I can do.

  We walk for nearly an hour through the jungle before we need to pull out our stone knives to force our way through the tangle of vines. I recognize that we are heading parallel to the river, not far from where I hid in the wimba tree on the day I first met Tupa. The sky, what little of it I can see through the thick canopy of leaves, has begun to lighten. Dawn is here. It won’t be long before the village is fully awake.

  I wonder how soon the villagers will notice that I am gone. Will Maor accept his defeat silently, or will he take this as his moment to challenge my father? I hope with all my heart that it is the former and not the latter.

  I slash away at the vines and branches hiding our trail to the river and nearly slice into Tatuie as I jump back and cry out in alarm.

  An arm is lying in the bush, fingers curled as if it is holding a secret in its hand. It is not moving.

  Tatuie steps forward and pulls back some vines. Enough of the body is revealed. We know who it is: Pucu, Maor’s first wife, lies dead on the ground.

  Hana, Tatuie, and I sit next to her still body, too stunned to do anything. I try to think of when I saw Pucu last. Wasn’t it just yesterday I noticed Maor slapping her? How could she be here, this far into the jungle? How could she be dead?

  “We should untangle her,” Tatuie finally says, taking charge. “She needs to be cleansed and then buried. We will have to go back.”

  I understand. Pucu’s spirit is in danger of not being led to the iwa, where the spirits of our ancestors rest, unless we cleanse her body and say the proper ritual prayers. We have only until sunset before her spirit will be lost in the forest, forever haunting us. It is for the good of all that we go back and bury her.

  “How did she die?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Tatuie responds. “Let’s pull her out onto the path.”

  Hana chops away at more of the vines hiding Pucu’s body while Tatuie and I pull. A collective gasp escapes our lips as Pucu’s body rolls onto the ground, revealing the cause of her death.

  Deep gashes cover her body. The skin of her arms, legs, and torso is shredded. Tatuie and I drop Pucu’s legs, and her body rolls farther, her head lolling to the side. Claw marks cover her face. One of her eyes is missing.

  I turn away and cannot stop myself. I vomit up everything I have eaten recently, heaving until nothing is left.

  “What kind of animal could do this?” Hana asks, though we all know the answer. The marks are those of a jungle cat. A jaguar. A very big jaguar.

  Tatuie’s eyes meet mine, and I know she is thinking the same thing. She says nothing other t
han “We need to wrap the body with what we have and try to keep animals from getting to her as much as we can. Help me,” she adds, kneeling down to the ground, opening her cloth satchel, and pulling out the supplies inside. Setting aside provisions meant for our journey, she unrolls the cloth to its full length. Hana and I follow her lead, discarding our supplies and unrolling our own cloths. Expertly, Tatuie folds all three pieces of fabric around Pucu’s body.

  I know that our efforts are likely in vain. Wild dogs or other beasts will probably get to the body before we are able to bring her family to carry it back to the village for the burial ceremony. Certainly, the three of us can carry Pucu’s ravaged body ourselves, but our custom is that only family members carry the dead. Already we have broken too many taboos by moving her. We can only hope that Pucu’s spirit knows our intent and will honor us for it.

  We lift the wrapped body off of the path and back into the undergrowth as gently as we can, then stand to leave. Hana’s scream jolts me as an enormous jaguar walks out of the jungle and onto the path beside us.

  “Run!” she yells, and escapes down the path, pulling Tatuie along with her. Tatuie turns back for an instant and tries to latch on to me, but Hana’s grip is too tight, and Tatuie is forced to follow along behind her. I watch them disappear around a bend and back the way we came.

  My feet are stuck, though my body is shaking violently.

  “Hello, little bird,” Tupa says in his deeply frightening voice.

  “Hello, jungle king,” I say.

  Chapter 6

  “I SMELL DEATH,” Tupa says. “What has happened? Are you all right?”

  My brain tries to comprehend his questions. Why is he asking me? Is this a test? Does this mean he had nothing to do with Pucu’s death after all? I want to believe that. I want to believe my jaguar friend innocent, but the image of Pucu’s mangled body fills my mind, and I do not know what to believe.

  “Rosara, are you all right?” he asks again when I say nothing.

  “Yes, Tupa,” I finally answer, “I am.”

  I tell him what happened to Pucu. He stands as still as a stone while I relate what I saw. “Claw marks,” he asks, “from a jungle beast?”

  “Yes. A large jungle beast.” I think about showing him the tears in her skin, but I cannot bring myself to unwrap her body. It seems wrong to expose her again. I also don’t think I can stomach seeing her mangled form one more time.

  “Did you think I did it?” he asks.

  I can’t answer at first, but then I whisper, “I hoped not.”

  “Do you still think I killed her?” he asks, his whiskers flicking in the still morning air, his body tense.

  “No,” I answer truthfully, realizing in that moment that I mean it.

  His body relaxes. “Your friends seemed to think that I am responsible, though,” he says as he sits on his haunches next to me. “They left in quite a hurry.”

  “Those are my father’s wives,” I say. “You frightened them.”

  “Your father has two wives?” he asks.

  “He had three, when my mother was still alive,” I answer.

  “Interesting. In my tribe, males are allowed only one mate. For life. I think it would be very confusing to have more than one wife,” he says as he begins to scratch his ear with a hind leg.

  The image I had of him earlier with his jaguar mate and cubs comes back to my mind. I want to ask him if he has a mate, but I hesitate. This is not the time for that conversation. Besides, I feel awkward and cannot form the right words to ask.

  Instead, I say, “What kind of animal could have done this to Pucu?”

  He sniffs around the body for a few moments. I’m not ready for the word he says.

  “Man.”

  Man? A human being did this? I cannot fathom the viciousness of such a person. How could anyone do such a thing? And why? How did Pucu end up being the victim, and why out here, so far from the village? None of this makes sense to me, and I shake my head to clear it.

  “Are you certain it was a man?” I ask Tupa.

  “Yes, little bird. There is no animal scent on the woman. Only the scent of a human. One that we both know well.”

  “A man who wanted to make it look as if a jungle beast killed her,” I say. My head is spinning. Only one man I can think of is devious enough to make Pucu’s death look like an accident. “Maor.”

  “Yes,” Tupa says.

  “Pucu was his wife.”

  A deep, guttural growl vibrates in my ears as Tupa responds to what I have said. I tell him everything then, of how the villagers are looking to Maor to become the next chief. How I’ve caught Maor watching me.

  And then I tell Tupa of my father’s plan to send me to the village of the river people to marry the son of the chieftain, a man I have never met and have no desire to marry. Tupa’s whiskers flicker as I finish my story, his ears flitting back and forth.

  “Would it be so bad to be married to the chieftain’s son?” he asks me, his head cocked to the side. “You’ve never met him. Perhaps you would fall in love with him after all.”

  I feel my face flush with my anger, and the words come spilling out before I can stop them. “Would it be so easy for you? Could you accept a wife you had not chosen?”

  At first Tupa is silent, and shame colors my face an even deeper red. I did not mean to lash out at him.

  “No, little bird, it would not be easy for me either,” he concedes.

  Silence grows thick and tangled like liana vines between us. I am about to apologize for causing the tension when Tupa asks, “If you do not wish to marry the chieftain’s son, what do you intend to do?”

  I am grateful for a break in the silence.

  “First I planned on escaping from Tatuie and Hana, but your arrival made that happen more quickly than I had anticipated. After that I thought . . .” I stop. My plan sounds so childish to my ear now that I am standing before the great jungle cat. How could I possibly ask him to take care of me in the jungle? He is a jaguar. A mammoth of a jaguar, but still just a beast. But perhaps . . .

  “Tupa, do you remember that day in the wimba tree?” I ask.

  “Certainly. I will never forget it,” he says, and with his lips pulled back to show his fangs I can tell he is smiling.

  “I asked if you were a karawara, a spirit of the jungle, and you said you were not.”

  “That is still true. I am not a karawara. Right now I am nothing but a beast.”

  “Have you ever met a karawara though?”

  Tupa’s smile vanishes. “Why do you ask me this?”

  “I want to ask the spirits of the jungle if they will help me so that I can remain in the jungle forever and not have to worry about living in the villages of men,” I say with conviction. My heartbeat is rapid but firm. I know that this is what I want.

  “You don’t know what you are asking for,” Tupa says as if I am a child. “The karawara do not make simple bargains. I fear you will not be happy with what they give you.”

  I think over his words for a few moments. He speaks the truth, and I know it deep inside. Though the jungle spirits can be generous, they can also be mischievous, even cruel at times. If I strike a bargain with one I may live to regret it. Or I may not live at all. There is no way of knowing.

  “I would rather take my chances with the karawara than with Maor,” I declare boldly. “Please take me to them.”

  “But, Rosara . . .” he begins to speak, but his words change into jaguar growls and I no longer understand him. Tupa jerks his head from side to side as if he’s trying to shake out the words he wants to speak. He stops, rubs at his mouth with a massive paw, and opens it. All that escapes are the sharp grunts and growls of a jungle cat.

  “Tupa, are you all right?” I ask, holding my hand out to touch him. He backs away from my fingers with a loud hiss, and I retract my hand quickly. Something has changed.

  Tupa paces back and forth in front of me. The early morning sounds of the jungle are muted, and silenc
e presses down around us as I wait for his voice to return.

  “Please, Tupa,” I beg. “Help me.”

  His eyes meet mine. I don’t want to cry in front of him, but I can feel tears begin to pool in the corners of my eyes. If Tupa refuses to take me to the karawara, I am out of options.

  His shoulders slump and his head drops as he puffs a rumbling sigh. I finally hear his human voice return, its timbre tight and strained as if he is fighting to push out the words. “All right.”

  The great jungle king walks a few steps into the jungle and pauses. “Follow me,” he says. And I do.

  We walk through the jungle without speaking. I’m glad for the silence and a chance to explore my feelings more deeply. I’m afraid and elated all at once. Will the jungle spirit grant my wish? Will it simply laugh at me, or worse, punish me for soliciting its favor? Will Tupa even be able to find a karawara?

  The jungle grows thicker around us, and I use my knife to chop at the vines and bush to make my way forward. Tupa waits as I do so. I know he could easily maneuver his lithe body through the brambles, so I am thankful for his patience as I hack my way through slowly.

  My thoughts flicker back to Pucu’s mangled corpse. I feel guilty about leaving her alone in the jungle, but I know that Tatuie and Hana will get help from the village to fetch her remains before sunset. The guilt settles deeper in my breast as I think of how they will interpret my disappearance.

  “Tupa!” I gasp. “They will think that you did it!”

  “Did what?” he asks. Of course he is not thinking of Pucu as I am. His mind must be on other things—his family, perhaps.

  “The people of my village will think that you killed Pucu. We thought it was a beast, and then you showed up and scared Tatuie and Hana away. And now that I’m gone they will think . . .”

  He finishes my thought: “ . . . that I have devoured you.”

  Chapter 7

  AS THE DAY wears on I begin to tire. Tupa helps me find food in the jungle, even climbing a tree to gather fruit for me. I wish I had thought to bring some of the provisions we removed from our satchels when we found Pucu’s body, but I did not have the foresight to do that, nor did I have anything to carry them in. Tupa helps provide for me though, and rests beside me as I eat.