Snow White and the Huntsman

by Lily Blake

  Finn moved past him, starting into a field of mushrooms, but Eric grabbed his arm. “Exactly as I do,” he said. Then he pulled his sweaty shirt up out of his leather vest to cover his nose and mouth. Finn and his men did the same.

  As they walked through the mushroom field, pollen flew up around them, some yellow bits sticking to their faces and hair. Eric knelt down, studying the smashed mushrooms at his feet. There was a whole line of them. They led out of the field and into a patch of thin trees. He moved a few mushrooms aside, revealing a stray footprint in the dirt.

  He kept his eyes on the trees in front of him. Something moved behind them. He was so focused, he didn’t notice that one of Finn’s men had wandered to the other edge of the field, where a pool spread out, its surface reflecting the gray sky. Eric turned just as a shadowy creature emerged from its depths, spearing the man through his chest with its barbed tail. Within seconds, the man was dragged under, his back disappearing beneath the glassy surface.

  The other men turned to run, but Eric held up his hand to stop them. He pointed to the thin gray trees. He was certain the escaped prisoner was in there—he could hear her struggling against the tangled undergrowth. Eric was about to draw his axe when a branch snapped. A figure emerged from the trees and ran in the opposite direction, farther into the Dark Forest.

  Eric gave chase, letting his shirt fall from his face. He moved quickly through the thick fog, trying not to plant his feet anywhere for too long, scared that the moss and vines would twist themselves around his ankles. His prey was just twenty feet off. She moved through the dense woods, weaving in and out of the trees, until she disappeared into the fog. Eric slowed down, searching the misty terrain. He spotted some thick bushes up ahead, just to his right. The branches were broken where she had gone in.

  In one swift motion, he reached into the shrub, his hands clasping one of her legs. It didn’t take much strength to drag her out, but she fought him anyway, writhing under his grip. She was a small thing.

  “Let me go!” she screamed. She turned over, her giant brown eyes staring up at him.

  He stepped back for a moment, uncertain what to do. She was so much younger than he’d imagined—no more than seventeen. Her legs were covered with scrapes and bruises. She had the whitest skin he’d ever seen, with full red lips and black hair that fell down her back. When he’d heard of the prisoner, he’d imagined a vicious old hag wielding knives or something. This girl—this beauty—he definitely wasn’t expecting.

  He helped her up, keeping his hand tight around her arm. She struggled back, sinking her heels into the dirt. When he wouldn’t let go, she bit into his hand, drawing blood.

  “Enough!” He pulled her back toward the clearing, trying to bring her where Finn and his men were waiting.

  But the girl struggled against him, landing a hard blow into his neck. “She’s going to kill me!” she screamed. Tears filled her eyes. “I was her prisoner for ten years, and now she’s going to kill me for no reason. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Taking in her tattered dress and knotted hair, Eric thought she was probably telling the truth. Ten years, though … Why would the Queen need to lock up a little girl?

  Eric shook his head, trying not to give in to the girl’s desperate pleas. “It’s not my business what you did. But you aren’t the first prisoner to claim they were innocent.”

  The girl’s legs gave out beneath her. She dropped to the ground, turning to dead weight. “Please—you have to believe me,” she said, straining against his grasp. “Her brother tried to cut out my heart.”

  Eric looked down at her. She was shaking. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She kept staring at him with those huge brown eyes. He’d never seen someone so terrified in his entire life.

  “I swear it,” she said.

  Eric looked back through the Dark Forest. He wanted a moment to think. He wanted somewhere to sit, have a swig of the grog, and think the whole thing over. But Finn and his men were coming toward him, their thin shirts still covering their faces.

  “Quick work!” Finn yelled. He pulled down his collar and wiped the pollen from his eyes.

  Eric studied him. He’d never liked his thin, weasel-like face or the nose that pointed at the end. The girl stood and hid behind him, trying to get as far away from Finn as possible.

  “Him,” she whispered. “He’s the one who came at me with a knife.” Her hands shook violently as Finn neared.

  “What do you intend to do with her?” Eric asked, stepping forward to slow Finn down.

  Finn’s top lip curled in displeasure. “What do you care, Huntsman?” He turned to the three remaining guards, signaling for them to move in.

  Eric tightened his grip on the girl. His head was throbbing from so many hours without a drink. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he still felt drawn to fight. “I’ll keep my word when the Queen keeps hers,” he said. He loosened his grip on the girl’s arm, now stepping back, pushing her deeper into the forest and away from Finn’s men.

  Finn wiped his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “You are a drunk and a fool,” he laughed. “My Queen has many powers; she can take life or sustain it. But she can’t bring your wife back from the dead.”

  Eric winced, the words stinging in ways he didn’t know possible. “But she told me …” he said. He realized he had been foolish enough to allow a tiny shred of hope to creep back into his heart.

  When he closed his eyes, he could still see Sara as he’d found her that day. She had worn her favorite dress—the one with the tiny lilies embroidered on the collar. The knife had gone into her side, just below her rib cage, tearing apart the fabric. Another gash was across her neck. The villagers said someone had come to pilfer supplies—the two gold coins Eric had, the jarred fruits and vegetables hidden below the washbasin. Sara had tried to stop them. By the time Eric had gotten there, her hands were stiff and cold.

  Reliving the anguish, Eric couldn’t stop himself from crying out, “I want her back!” It was a cry of pure pain.

  The Huntsman suddenly knew what he needed to do.

  He pushed the girl back farther, trying to get her away from the men. As soon as she was out of reach, she ran into the trees, not bothering to look back. Eric pulled the knife from his waist. He flicked his wrist, throwing it into one guard’s chest, right beside his heart. The man fell to the side, grabbing a tree for support. Then Eric drew the two hatchets he carried on his belt. He wielded them in the air—one in each hand.

  Finn stalked forward. He held his sword at an angle, waiting to get close enough to Eric’s neck. The other two guards rushed in first. Eric knocked one in the head with the blunt end of one of the hatchets. The guard stumbled back, momentarily stunned. He touched his hand to his blond hair, where a wound had opened. Eric swiped at the other, but the guard lunged to the side. Eric continued to fight the man, blocking each blow as it came. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Finn raising his sword. Finn was moving in, ready to strike.

  Eric hurled a hatchet into Finn’s chest. Finn staggered to the side. The other two guards backed up, eyeing the remaining hatchet in Eric’s hands. For a moment, no one moved. They all watched as Finn regained his footing. As if by magic, there was no blood around the wound. His face returned to normal—a sneer was the only sign that he’d been hit. He pulled the hatchet out of his chest and laughed, feeling the smooth skin where it had entered. His shirt was ripped, but he was otherwise fine.

  “The Queen has given me protection,” he said darkly. “Her touch has transferred power—I cannot be wounded. Not here, inside the Dark Forest.” He laughed as he threw the hatchet at Eric. It missed, the blade lodging in a nearby tree trunk.

  Eric’s throat went dry. He’d never seen anything like it before—a man who could not be wounded. If anything, he looked strengthened by the blow. Finn was glaring at him, the veins in his neck visible as he raised his sword.

  Eric tried to block him, but his arm didn’t come up in time. Finn’s sword pie
rced him in the side. The metal burned as it ripped through his flesh. He twisted away, hoping it hadn’t gone in too deep. When Finn pulled it out, blood spilled from the wound, trickling down Eric’s side and onto his tattered gray pants.

  The guards stepped back, as if to let Finn finish him off. Finn lunged, but Eric dodged the final blow, instead taking Finn out at the ankles with his right foot. Finn hit the ground hard. He lay there for a second, momentarily stunned.

  Eric leaned down. He grabbed Finn by the back of his shirt and picked him up, wincing at the pain in his side. Then he flipped him into a stray patch of mushrooms, watching as a yellow cloud expanded above him. Eric covered his nose, careful not to breathe in any of the pollen.

  The other two guards brought their shirts over their mouths. Finn tried to stand, but the pollen had already taken hold of him. His eyes glazed over. He stumbled forward, his hands outstretched, feeling around for something the rest of them couldn’t see. He was smiling now, the yellow dust covering his hands. A clump of it was stuck to his chin.

  Eric touched the wound in his side, looking at the blood on his fingers. He eyed the guards just a few feet away. They were standing between the trees. They had their swords out, the silver blades aimed at his throat. He couldn’t take both of them—not now. Not wounded like this.

  Eric glanced over his shoulder at the Dark Forest. The mist had thinned out. The strange voices whispered to him. For the first time, he swore he could understand the words. They were calling from the darkness, urging him to go. He yanked his hatchet from the tree and turned, running as fast as he could into the dense undergrowth after the girl.

  Snow White darted through the woods. She kept her eyes on the ground, jumping over fallen trees and winding around stray mushroom patches, careful not to kick up the dangerous pollen. Prickly bushes cut her legs. A branch whipped her arm, raising a hard, pink welt. Still, she kept moving, too scared to even look back.

  She cut through a field of red flowers. The dirt squelched beneath her feet, threatening to pull her into the mud forever. She kept going, yanking one foot out, then the other, until she was across. She started down a hilly incline to where a long stream opened beyond the mist.

  So they had found her here. They had come into the Dark Forest, risking death to retrieve her. And they’d brought that awful man, his clothes stained with sweat and grog. She’d never seen someone so foul. Who was he? And why had he agreed to go into the Dark Forest for the Queen? She could understand why Finn would follow her. Ravenna controlled him, telling him what to do, what to say, how to be. The choice was never his to make. The guards simply did what they were told.

  But the Huntsman—that’s what they’d called him, hadn’t they? Why would he come in here, risking his life, if he didn’t need to? They’d mentioned something about his wife—that much Snow White remembered. His face had gone pale when Finn had said her name out loud. Is she being kept prisoner? Is that the Queen’s hold over him?

  Snow White continued down the steep incline. The thin vines that clung to the side of the hill slithered forward and wrapped around her ankles, tethering her to the earth. She ripped them off as she moved closer to the black stream. When she’d almost reached it, a heavy hand came down on her shoulder. Another covered her mouth, preventing her from screaming. The reeking Huntsman pulled her to him, one finger over his lips to signal quiet. When he didn’t hear anything after a moment, he released her, his face breaking into a relieved smile.

  She was filled with loathing. He had tried to give her to Finn. He was working with Ravenna’s soldiers, ready to hand her to them so they could cut out her heart. But now what? She was aware that he had let her go—that she would be dead already if he wanted her to be. Why the change? And why was he still following her? The uncertainty filled her with rage.

  She wheeled her fist back and then punched him as hard as she could in the mouth. He stumbled backward. As she pushed past him, he put his fingers to his mouth, feeling the blood on his lip.

  “Run,” he barked before she was a few feet down the muddy bank. “You won’t make it a hundred yards, but the warning has been made, so my conscience is clear.” He shrugged.

  This Huntsman was profoundly irritating. She paused anyway, though, looking closely at the stream. It was filled with eels. Their dark bodies twisted beneath the surface. There were so many, they’d turned the water black. She swallowed hard, feeling that maybe—just maybe—he had a point.

  She stared into the water, afraid to go any farther. They were both quiet for a moment.

  “Why does the Queen want you dead?” he asked. She turned, for the first time noticing his gray eyes. He had thick, muscular arms and a broad chest. His straw-blond hair came down to his shoulders. She looked at his side, realizing he’d been slashed in the scuffle. Blood stained his shirt, spreading below his leather vest.

  “You’re hurt,” she muttered, watching him press his hand to his side. He nodded, still waiting for her reply. Snow White looked at the ground. “She takes from all the young women in the kingdom. She steals their youth and beauty.… I’ve seen what happens to them.”

  “You escaped, though,” the Huntsman said. “How long were you there?”

  Snow White scanned the Dark Forest, making sure there were no figures lurking in the mist. “I spent ten years in the north tower.”

  “Who are you?” he whispered in vexation. He scanned her ripped clothes and tangled hair again.

  Snow White wiped the sweat from her forehead, realizing how she must look. Her velvet bodice was worn and threadbare in spots, the shift underneath stained and torn.

  “Who are you?” he asked again, much louder this time.

  She glanced around. They were in the middle of the Dark Forest. She had no idea which trail led back to the village, or whether she could even find it. High above, the trees moved, their branches bending unnaturally low, as if they were reaching for her. This man—this Huntsman—was her only chance. “I’m the daughter of King Magnus,” she finally said.

  The Huntsman shook his head. He looked unconvinced. “The king’s daughter is dead. She died the same night as her father.”

  She stared at him, defiant, daring him to question her again. He pressed his fingers to his chin and circled her. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered under his breath. He peered closer at her jet-black hair, the milk-white skin that hadn’t seen sun since she was a child. Snow White stood up straight, letting him notice the big brown eyes she had shared with her father and the soft red lips.

  He stopped in front of her, his head down. He gently took her hand and lifted it, turning her arm over to look at the scrapes and bruises marring her skin. She held her breath, unsure how to react. He must have been holding his breath, too, for he suddenly exhaled.

  Then he firmly gripped her arm and started off, dragging her along as he trudged beside the muddy stream.

  “Where are we going?” she yelled, dismayed by his abrupt violence.

  “It’s not safe here anymore,” he said. “Especially for the king’s daughter. They’re not going to let you go easily. They might just be stupid enough to follow us deeper into the forest.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. But she shook her arm out of his grasp and trudged along without his help.

  They walked for what seemed like ages. Snow White listened to his steady footsteps as the light in the forest dimmed. The darkness between the trees seemed even more menacing now. Shadows darted through the bushes beside them. Snow White tried to ignore them, instead moving faster over rocks and fallen trees, but she could hear the wild animals breathing in the dark.

  While they moved, the Huntsman spoke briefly. He told her his name. He’d been summoned by the Queen to lead the small group into the Dark Forest—a place he’d gone into before while tracking animals.

  When Snow White asked about his reward, he’d said only that she had lied. He didn’t mention his wife, or what the Queen had promised him. She’d wanted to ask more, but his eye
s had welled up at the mention of it. Then he’d turned away, trudging up ahead, out of earshot.

  They followed the stream for another hour and then started up the incline, where the forest opened up to a small clearing. The dirt was mostly free of vines and plants, making it seem like one of the safer places to rest. Snow White sat on a rotted log. Eric lowered himself down beside her. He unbuckled his belt and peeled his vest and shirt off, exposing the wound in his side. She winced just looking at it.

  He moved slowly, trying to get to the flagon of grog.

  “Here,” she finally said. “Let me help you.” She unscrewed the heavy canteen, holding it out to him.

  “Can you pour it on?” he asked. He nodded down at the two-inch gash where the sword had gone in. “I don’t think it hit anything vital. I wouldn’t have gotten this far otherwise.”

  Snow White doused the wound, cringing as he twisted, obviously in pain. Then she ripped at the hem of her linen dress, working until she got a square piece—the cleanest she could find. She pressed it against his side. “You’re welcome,” she finally whispered when Eric was silent for a long while.

  “We’ll stay here for the night,” he said.

  Snow White cleared a space on the ground and sat down. She looked at him. He was still clutching the tattered rag to his wound. He scanned the trees over her shoulder.

  “You never answered me,” Snow White said.

  “I don’t recall a question.” Eric brushed the sweaty hair off his forehead.

  Snow White curled into a tight ball, trying to steel herself against the cold. “Where are we going?” she repeated.

  Eric leaned forward. The tree roots around them glowed with an eerie phosphorescent light, giving them just enough to see by. He grabbed a stick from the ground and drew a box, a few triangles, and a giant circle. He pointed to the box. “Here’s the Queen’s castle,” he said. Then he moved the stick, pointing to the triangles and circle beside it. “The mountains and the Dark Forest. Here, past them—there’s a village.”