by Lily Blake
Snow White shook her head. She took the stick from him, writing the words in the dirt: DUKE HAMMOND. She underlined his name twice. “I need to go to the duke’s castle.”
Eric grabbed the stick from her hand. “You’ll go where I take you.”
She studied the Huntsman’s clothes, noticing his weathered boots and the pants that were worn through with holes. If he wouldn’t do it out of sheer goodness, surely there were other reasons for him to do it. “There’s a reward that awaits you,” she offered. “There are noblemen there—an army.”
Eric pulled his shirt back on, seemingly oblivious to the dried bloodstain that spread out on the side of it. He laughed. “The duke fights? He hides behind walls. I know sheep that have more fight than him.”
“They’ll give you two hundred gold pieces,” Snow White continued, undeterred. “Do we have a deal?”
The Huntsman took a giant swig from his flagon. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then smiled. “Fine. I’ll deliver you to safety, m’lady.”
Snow White leaned in close, searching his eyes. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Swear it.”
“I swear,” Eric said. “Constantly. It’s one of my better qualities.” He smirked, a dimple appearing in his cheek.
She glared at him, ignoring his attempt at charm. He would either do it or he wouldn’ t—there was no time for games. Finally, he nodded, his smile gone, as if to show he was sincere. “It’s a deal, then,” she said.
She went to the edge of the clearing and grabbed an armful of dried leaves. She laid them over the dirt, then another armful, trying to create some semblance of comfort. Then she lay down on the makeshift cushion, scattering more leaves over herself. She stared at the black forest above. Giant birds cut across the sky. A low growling sound could be heard in the distance. She pulled her tattered dress around her, trying to warm herself. Tomorrow they’d start off again, on their way to Duke Hammond’s. With a little luck, she could reach the stronghold within a week.
She turned to Eric, who had lain down beside the old log, his hand clutching the bloody gauze. “Do you think … ?” she said, the worry returning now that the night was upon them. “Will they follow us?”
Eric turned to her, his eyes lit up by the glowing tree roots. “I don’t know. They’d be foolish to—few survive.” He scratched his head, then took another swig of his drink.
“Is that good news or bad?” Snow White let out an uncomfortable laugh. Eric didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his flagon, trying to determine how much grog there was left. She sat up and studied the Huntsman’s face, wondering about this guide she’d just hired. “How far have you traveled into the Dark Forest?”
“We passed it a few miles back,” he mumbled. She pulled more leaves around her, searching the woods, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just kept sipping that stupid flagon. He took one sip, then another, not stopping until his movements slowed. His eyes fell shut. Within minutes, he was snoring happily, leaving Snow White all alone.
The terrible noises of the forest surrounded her. Every snapping branch or crying bird sent chills through her entire body. She closed her eyes, willing the rest of the world away, but she felt insects crawling up her legs. Something buzzed in her ear.
It was a long time before she could sleep.
The Huntsman hacked through the thick undergrowth with his two axes, cutting down the vines and stray branches that blocked their passage. Snow White followed a few feet behind him, listening to the strange voices that whispered through the trees.
“What is that?” she asked. She couldn’t make out the words, but they kept calling to her, relentless.
“Pay them no mind,” Eric said. He swiped at some thornbushes with his axe. “The Dark Forest gains its strength from your weakness.”
The Huntsman continued on. Snow White started after him, but the path closed behind his back. A thornbush caught the side of her dress. She grabbed the soft fabric and pulled, but the branch wouldn’t let her go. Instead, it seemed like it held tighter, the barbs twisting in the thick linen. When she looked up, she could barely see Eric in front of her. Vines snaked out from the trees, the grass rose up around her feet, and the tree limbs leaned in, coming just inches from her face.
“Huntsman!” she yelled. She pushed the branches back, trying to step through, but it was no use. The forest was swallowing her whole.
The more she struggled, the more the vines grew in thick coils around her. Leaves spread out in every direction, blocking her view. It was getting hard to breathe. She tried to raise her foot, but a branch had grown over her toe. She strained against it until it snapped. “Huntsman!”
Then, finally, she heard footsteps in front of her—somewhere beyond the tangled wall of green. An axe came down just inches from her right arm, cutting the vines that reached for her. He slashed at the forest to her left and above her, the broken limbs and leaves falling around her feet in heavy piles. She stepped forward, but her dress was still caught, that one thick, thorny branch refusing to let it go.
The Huntsman pulled a smaller knife from his belt. He took a fistful of cloth in his hand and slashed it until she was free. Snow White looked down at the dress, which now revealed her front and most of her left thigh, cropped so short, she wondered if he saw her undergarments. She glared at him, the heat rising to her face.
The Huntsman narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess,” he grumbled. Then he turned and started running, as if to punish her. She stalled for one second, and he had the lead he needed. She had to sprint to catch up.
As she ran, her entire body was tense, her hands balled into tight fists. She hated him right then. She hated the smug smile that appeared whenever he was making fun of her, or how he always seemed to know where they were going, even when the entire forest looked the same in every direction. But mostly she hated that she needed him. To lead her, to cut her free from some terrible, man-eating plants. To save her from that bastard Finn.
“Tell me, Huntsman,” she gasped once she’d finally caught up. She spit the words at his back. “Do you drink to drown your sorrow or your conscience?”
Eric whipped around, his cheeks flushed from so much grog the night before. “What concern is it of yours why I drink?” He lunged at her, coming just inches from her face.
She didn’t flinch. “I believe I have employed you to take me somewhere.” She smiled, knowing she had a point.
The Huntsman backed away. He turned and cut at the dense woods with his two axes, swiping at the branches with more force than necessary. A few broken twigs flew at Snow White’s face. “And I believe kings and queens and dukes and princesses have no business sticking their noses in common folks’ lives.”
“But you served the Queen.…” She stopped herself, remembering his face in the clearing. He’d grown so quiet when Finn mentioned his wife. “Did she pay you well?” She tried to get back to that conversation. What was the agreement? What had he wanted? The Queen had made a promise even she couldn’t keep.
Eric paused, resting his hand on a tree trunk. “Not well enough,” he lied. Then he turned back to his path, bringing his axes down once more. “Royalty does that, you see. They pay others a pittance to fight their battles for them.”
Snow White shook her head. She knew he was trying to change the subject, but she no longer cared. Who was he to speak ill of her family? “My father fought his own battles, thank you,” she snapped.
The forest opened up before them. The Huntsman lowered his axes. As they started through a dirt clearing, he picked up his pace, trying to lose her. “Your father.” He let out a smug laugh. “He’s the one who let the devil in the door. It’s his fault the kingdom has plunged into darkness.”
Snow White jumped over a rotting tree stump. She leveled her gaze at Eric’s back, the blood rushing to her face. “Watch your words, Huntsman.”
He turned, meeting her glare. “Watch your step.” He pointed at her feet. She noti
ced the dirt was sandier than it was in other places. Her feet were sinking into the ground. First her toes went under, then her ankles, until the sand was nearly up to her shins.
Eric stood there, looking so completely satisfied with himself. “How much does it take for a princess to ask for help?” He laughed. He crossed his arms over his chest, tapping out the seconds with his right foot.
“How much does it take for a brute to offer it?” Snow White snapped back. She tried to free her legs, but it was too late. She’d already sunk down past her knees. The sand felt colder with each inch she went down.
Eric rested one foot on the solid tree stump beside her and offered her his hand. His expression was just a touch softer than before. He lifted her up and out, reaching beneath her arms to get a better grip. When he set her down in the field, she was covered with sand.
She wiped herself off and shook the sand out in the grass. She would have thanked him, but his insults were still fresh in her mind. He hadn’t known her father, and he certainly couldn’t comprehend what Ravenna was capable of. That woman—that witch—had sat beside them at every meal, holding her father’s hand. She’d told him about how her mother had grown sick just as Snow White’s had. She’d read to Snow White and William when they were bored and thrown parties for the nobility. The king had made a mistake. He’d been fooled. In some ways, they all had.
When she turned back to Eric, he was kneeling in the grass. He handed her some folds of leather. Then he yanked one of the laces from each leather arm brace. He tossed them into her lap.
“You’ll freeze to death before we get anywhere. Use these to make some leggings and boots.” She held the leather up as a question. “It’s the padding from my vest.”
Then he picked up a small, dirt-caked nugget from the ground and rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully. “What is that?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t what she thought it was.
“A fewmet.” He pronounced it foomay. “It’s from a deer,” he replied. He shot her a look, as if to say please don’t make me elaborate. Snow White watched him knead it between his fingers. Then he brought it to his nose, breathing in its scent. She turned away, disgusted. It must have been droppings.
He stood and pushed past her. He moved quickly, starting toward a patch of trees. The air was different there, the fog so thick she could barely see five feet in front of them.
“Stay here,” he said, leaving Snow White behind to fashion some crude clothing for herself.
His stomach had been grumbling all morning. He squeezed the deer dropping between his fingers. Deer didn’t usually come inside the Dark Forest, unless they were scared into the trees by another predator. He supposed this morning he’d gotten lucky. Whether the girl was hungry, she hadn’t said, but she didn’t look as if they had fed her well in the tower.
He kept his eyes on the ground and tracked the animal as he’d done a hundred times before. He moved quickly and quietly, pulling an axe from his waist, ready to throw it should the deer appear. He saw one dropping, then another, as he walked farther into the dense white cloud.
Beyond the fog, the air was clear. There was an outcropping of boulders before him. One opened up to a massive cave. The wind changed, and he heard a familiar voice.
“Eric,” she called out from inside the mouth of the cave.
That voice. Hearing it out loud, after so long, raised goose bumps on Eric’s skin. He dropped his axe, letting it fall to the earth with a clatter. Sara stepped out of the darkness. She was wearing her favorite dress, the purple fabric more vivid than it ever had been when she was alive. Her dark brown hair framed her face, cascading down her back in thick waves. The full lips he’d kissed a thousand times before were right there in front of him, waiting to be kissed again.
“Are you … ?” he asked, glancing down at her body. She was whole again; the wound where she’d been stabbed was gone. There was no gash in her neck.
Eric wiped his eyes. It felt more real than any dream. “Am I … ?”
“Touch me and see for yourself,” Sara said. She held out her hand, beckoning him toward her.
Eric glanced around, looking beyond the trees. Don’t … he thought, reminding himself where he was. It was all an illusion now—a picture conjured up by the Dark Forest for some unknown purpose. But as he turned back to Sara, seeing that sweet face again, he couldn’t resist. He took a step toward her, closer to the dark cave.
She held out her arms for him. “Where were you, Eric? Come to me now. Protect me now.…”
Something inside of him broke. Tears filled his eyes. He remembered the day so clearly, the sight of Sara’s body when he finally arrived at the house. Her eyes were open. They were covered with a thin gray film. Her lips were parted. Her hands were cold to the touch. Everything she was—all the joy she’d held inside her—was gone.
“I’m so sorry,” Eric whispered. His voice was shaking as he stepped toward her. “Please forgive me. Give me peace.…” She was no more than a few feet away now. He wanted to run his fingertips over her smooth skin. He wanted to hear that sweet, bubbly laugh, to feel her curl up beside him in bed, warming her cold feet against his calves. He wanted to smell the scent of her hair—the lemon juice she put in it during the summer or the rich gardenia oil she dabbed behind her ears.
He reached for her, her fingers nearly touching his, when something struck him in the back of the head. He fell to his knees. He touched the sore spot, wincing from the pain.
“She’s not real! Do you hear me?” Someone was yelling so loudly, it hurt his ears.
He looked up to see the girl—Snow White—clutching a large stick. She was yelling at him, her face panicked. She pointed at the cave. Eric turned, but the place where Sara had been standing was empty. There, in the darkness, he saw monstrous black wolves huddled together, their long muzzles barely visible in the dim morning light. Their yellow lupine eyes peered out at him. He kicked the ground, shuffling backward, trying to get away.
“She’s not real.…” Snow White repeated. “She’ s—”
“I heard you!” Eric yelled. He stared at the place where Sara had stood, just moments before. He’d been so close to touching her. All he wanted was her hand in his, the warmth spreading out between their fingers. He grabbed the bottle by his side and drained it, letting the last of the grog warm his throat. But even that couldn’t help him. The tears came fast, and he turned away, making sure the girl didn’t see.
They moved quickly through a field of tall, rubbery grass, parting it before them to allow passage. It came up to Snow White’s chin. She swatted it away with both hands, but she could only see the back of Eric’s head as he reached the other side of the field. He was rubbing the spot where she’d struck him. The blood had dried, clumping in his hair.
She had heard him talking to someone beyond the trees. When she’d found him, his face was tear-streaked and his hands were shaking, one reaching out for something she could not see. “Sara,” he’d kept saying as he took another step toward the cave. How had he not seen those monstrous wolves? They were three times the size of normal ones, and their eyes glowed a horrible yellow. How had he not heard their low growling as he’d approached them? They’d been snarling, their upper lips pulled back, exposing their sharp teeth.
Snow White stepped out of the long grass, kicking away the blades that clung to her newly clad legs. She was grateful she had something now to protect them from being sliced into with each slap of the grass.
The Huntsman hadn’t turned around since they’d left the cave. He hadn’t spoken to her or commented on the apparition he’d seen. He’d just kept moving, cutting at stray branches and bushes with his axe.
“She’s the one you bargained for—Sara. The one who spoke to you,” Snow White started. She knew he didn’t want to talk, but she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t just happened. Had he seen her there? What kind of illusion had it been? It was clear now his wife wasn’t being held captive.… “Is Sara dead?” she asked.
&nb
sp; The Huntsman whipped around. He pointed at her with the end of the axe. “You’ll not mention her name again,” he snapped. Snow White stepped back, her pulse racing. The sharp blade was just two feet away from her neck.
The Huntsman lowered it. “Just don’t,” he said, his face sad.
He pulled his knife from its sheath and passed it to her, as if to change the subject. She shook her head no, but he pressed it into her hands. “Here—feel its weight. One hand to the other.”
She stared at the dagger, noticing that the tip was curved slightly inward. It was heavier than she’d thought it would be. The Huntsman’s eyes were fixed on her, watching as she turned it over in her hands, then pointed it toward the ground. “Now hold it—business end pointed toward me.”
His face was more serious than before. His straw-colored hair was tucked behind his ears, his beard covered with dirt. She held the knife aloft, the tip of the blade aimed just above his waist. “Why are you—?”
Before she could finish, he lunged at her. She stepped back, raising the blade so it pointed at his throat. He paused just inches away from her. Then he smiled for the first time all day. “Good. Now which is your lead foot?” he asked, circling away. He rested his foot on a nearby tree and studied her.
“What do you mean?” she asked. Behind him, the forest was eerily quiet. Two crows watched them from a low branch. He jumped at her again. Instinctively, she put her right foot forward, not letting him gain any ground this time.
He stalked toward her. She leaned in, the knife in her right hand still pointed at his neck. “Stay back,” he said, waving her away, toward the grass field. “You’re too small to attack. You have to parry—use your opponent’s strength against him. Raise your opposing forearm.”