PRINCESS BEAST

by Ditchoff, Pamela

  Chapter Eleven

  Sea Witch

  In the Deco Palace high atop Glass Mountain, Croesus the hound is crunking to Soul Man playing on the palace sound system. Elora the Enchantress, dressed in a Louis Vuitton Damier bathrobe, lights a clove cigarette and blows a smoke ring that settles about the dogs’ head. “Don’t forget that I can read your thoughts, fuzzy as they are. True, I said I would not set foot in Andersen Land, however, a lady, especially an enchantress, can change her mind.”

  Croesus trots to her side and licks her foot. Elora hisses at him and begins pacing. “Rune is a home girl, a Grimm fairy tale beastie/princess. If I allowed her to die in Andersen Land, imagine the tale that would be fabricated. The Little Beast, too proud, too loud, too ugly, but with a beautiful voice, who tries to get confirmed, to be transformed to a princess. She falls in the gutter, or in this case, the ocean, where some evil being enslaves her until she can earn a soul. Rune knows that animals have souls, rocks, rivers, trees, thunder, animals, plants, earth” . . . she throws her hands in the air and the volume ups three levels . . . “and music!”

  * * *

  “In our kingdom grow vivid red and deep blue trees on which fruits shine like gold and flowers are like flickering flames. Our castle stands on blue sand and fish swim in and out the windows. We gather what is lost in shipwrecks but we don’t disturb the bones,” the dowager queen begins.

  “Excuse me,” Rune says. “Don’t you want to hear my story good and true?”

  “You asked to learn about my grand daughter and the prince, did you not? Time is short; I want to get you to land and get back to my grand daughter whom I have not seen in one hundred years. She liked nothing better than listening to my stories of the world above. Again and again she would beg to hear of ships, towns, humans and animals,” the queen said, her face softening with the memory. “She loved her grandmother more than anyone.”

  Rune is squirming with questions, but one icy glance from the dowager queen as Rune inhales, makes her bite her bottom lip.

  “The impatience of youth,” the old mermaid shakes her head and clucks her tongue. “She was impatient, could barely stay in her scales until her fourteenth birthday, the age all mermaids are allowed to swim to the surface. Each of her five older sisters swam to the surface, enjoying the adventure, but glad to come home to their father’s kingdom and never strayed again.

  “The day she turned fourteen, I placed a wreath of white lilies around her hair, and I was joyous sending her off for at last her pleading would cease. As it happened, this day was also the birthday of a human prince, his sixteenth. There was celebration on a ship floating near where my grand daughter surfaced. There was music and dance, and once she set eyes on the prince, she was blind to everything else, including the good sense I had taught her since her birth.”

  Rune remembers her first sight of Hans, his black button eyes, his pointed nose, the white mask of fur on his face, his white tipped spines; how she felt tingles along her spine whenever he touched her, and his strong human legs. Then she remembers his human face, although twisted with rage, it was the most handsome face she could have imagined.

  “How she could desire a creature that wobbles about on two ugly sticks of pink flesh is beyond my comprehension.” The queen tucks her hair behind her ear and continues. “A storm from the north blew into the sea and the ship was snapped to bits. He should have died in the storm.”

  “She saved him.” Rune sighs.

  “She did—and it was her undoing.” The queen slaps her tail against the turtle’s shell and he veers left. “All night she held his head above the water, drifting where the currents would take them. In the morning, he had not awakened and she kissed him and stroked his hair. Soon enough, she spied land, and she laid him on the sand where a church stood nearby. ”

  “Oh-oh,” Rune says.

  “Well, that is the first sensible utterance I have heard from you,” the queen says, managing the first smile Rune has seen since meeting her. “She was caressing his face when a group of girls came out of the church. She swam out to some rocks and hid behind them to watch. One of the girls found the prince, bent over him, and he opened his eyes and smiled at her. He was carried into the church and my grand daughter swam home with a sorrowful heart.”

  “How did she find him once more?” Rune asked.

  “Sneaky sisters, gossip traveling through jellyfish,” the queen scowls. “She learned the location of his castle and spent night after night watching from behind the tall reeds, swooning over the human. She listened to his people speak of how kind and good was the prince. I should have guessed the extent of her obsession when she asked me how a mermaid might gain an immortal soul.”

  “Everyone has . . .”

  “PPPPssssttt,” the queen sputters, “she had been fed some nonsense about a heavenly paradise where human souls go after death.”

  “Oh-oh, listen, Helga told me . . .”

  “The Bog King’s daughter! And what happened to her? We have our tales in the water realm and everyone knows them. Did she see paradise; did it save her I ask you?” The queen is seething and her tail has taken on a radiant blush.

  “No, damn it,” Rune shouts. She grinds her fangs and her hackles rise. The old queen glances over her shoulder and she giggles. “You’re a pip, Rune.”

  “But to have a human soul . . .”

  “Smart too, aren’t you? My grand daughter sought out the sea witch, at her house built from the bones of dead sailors.”

  Rune shudders; she’s familiar with witches, for they as are numerous in the Grimm forest as fairies are in Andersen Land.

  The queen shakes her head from side to side. “I can’t fault the witch, she prefers slime and mud, eels and toads, but she is not a liar; she speaks the truth, ugly as it may be. She knew why my grand daughter came to the lair. Your wish is stupid, said she, and it will bring you misery. You want to be rid of your tail and instead have two stumps as humans have, so that the prince will fall in love with you. You think you will gain both him and an immortal soul.”

  “Did she—did she gain the love of the prince,” Rune asks, leaning forward.

  “You’re breathing on me,” the queen snaps. “Maybe you are not so smart, maybe you don’t deserve to learn of my grand daughter’s transformation.”

  Rune taps the queen’s shoulder, and when she turns to look, Rune presses her lips together and turns an imaginary key in front of her mouth.

  “The witch mixed up a potion and told my grand daughter to drink it the next morning before sunrise while sitting on a beach. She told her, Your legs will divide and shrink until it becomes what humans call pretty legs. You will be in pain; it will feel is as a sword is piercing you. All that see you will say you are the most beautiful human child they have ever seen. You will walk more gracefully than a ballerina, but each time your foot touches the ground, it will feel as if you are walking on sharp knives. If you are willing to suffer all this, then I can help you. And my grand daughter whispered, I will.”

  Rune bites down on her bottom lip in order to keep quiet. She nearly bites through when the old queen screeches, “But remember that once you have a human body you can never become a mermaid again,” the witch warned her. If you can’t make the prince fall so much in love with you that he forgets both his father and mother, because his every thought concerns only you, and he orders the priest to take his right hand and place it in yours, so that you become man and wife—if you cannot do this then the first morning after he has married another your heart will break and you will become foam on the ocean.”

  The queen turns once more to look at Rune, “Yes, I wager her face was as frozen as yours at this moment, but she still said, I must try. However, the witch required payment and it would be as dear a cost as she could imagine. My grand daughter had the most beautiful voice of all who dwell in the seas. I suppose you thought to charm your prince with that voice, but you must give it to me.”

  Rune slaps her right han
d over her mouth.

  “”If you take my voice, my grand daughter said, what will I have left? The witch replied, Your graceful walk and lovely eyes; speak with them and you will be able to capture a human heart. Have you lost your courage? Stick out your little tongue and let me cut if off in payment and you shall have the potion.”

  Rune slaps her left hand on top of her right hand over her mouth.

  “My grand daughter whispered, Let it happen. And it did, the witch cut out her tongue, and gave her the potion, then she was mute. Would you do that, young Rune? Would you have your tongue cut out for your prince?” The dowager queen turns her head slowly and looks at Rune with a level gaze. Rune removes her hands and whispers, “No.”

  * * *

  “There’s hope yet,” Beauty says and sets the mirror on the frost-stiff grass of the trail she and Holger have been running along all through the night and into the day. They passed Odense, and in a few hours will reach Nyborg if all goes well. “Rune has always had a delicate nature when it comes to pain; she takes after me in that respect.”

  Beauty sits on the grass and looks about; the trees are bare, the sky is steel grey and the North wind whistles through the treetops. She hangs her head and silent tears roll down her cheeks. “Can we possibly catch up with her now?” Beauty asks and lifts her chin, but Holger is not there.

  “Holger?” she cries.

  Holger appears moments later, his hands cupped before him, walking as if he is carrying a fallen baby sparrow. He kneels before Beauty and presents her with a great pile of rose hips. “For you,” he says, “eat them from my hands so you won’t lose a one. They will renew your spirit and strength.”

  Before eating, Beauty asks again, “Can we catch her?”

  “Helsingor is my home,” Holger replies. “I know every road and hill and stream between here and there. Rune does not. We shall try.”

  Beauty lowers her huge head into Holger’s huge hands and carefully, gratefully eats the rose hips, not missing a one. Then she licks his hands clean of juice. And she does feel much better. She stands and places her hairy hand on Holger’s cheek, and says a heartfelt thank you. “We can go, if you are ready.”

  Holger cannot stand. “You are the most spirited and strong woman I have ever known,” he rasps. “I cannot go now, my third oar is out of the water.”

  Beauty shifts her eyes to the lower section of Holger’s tunic and sees that his erection is of Beast-worthy proportion. Something Beauty thought long lost revives and races through her blood; memories of herself and the Beast, rolling and growling like two badgers on a moss bed. The urge to mate is strong, but the urge to find her daughter is stronger. She turns her back and says just that. She considers what Holger could do: try to wrestle her to the ground and rape her, hit her over the head with a branch and rape her, run her through with is sword and rape her, or leave her where she stands to continue alone. Turning your back to an opponent is the greatest offering of trust a warrior can offer and receive. Beauty hears Holger rise, then shout, “On to Copenhagen!”

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  She’s Got Legs

  Rune and the dowager queen are making good progress through the waters of Kattegut, the arm of the North Sea between Sweden and Denmark; turtles are slow only when compared to mermaids. Rune has not noticed, enraptured by the queen’s tale.

  “My grand daughter carried the potion to the waters below the prince’s castle and sat on the lowest marble step. Just before sunrise, she drank the potion, and felt as if a sword had pierced her heart. She fainted and lay still as death until the sun rose. She opened her eyes and saw the prince looking downward at her and her slender little legs. He asked who she was and how she had arrived there, but of course, she could not answer, instead she tried to convey her feelings with her beautiful eyes. The prince took her hand and led her to the castle, each step like walking on broken glass, but she appeared to walk on air.” The queen yawned and declared it was time for her afternoon nap.

  “Now?” Rune protested, a bit too vigorously.

  The dowager queen possesses the brass of the elderly feeling death’s breath on their shoulders. “If you hurt me, you’ll die and fish will eat the flesh from your bones.” And with that she curls up like a cat atop the shell and falls asleep, leaving Rune with hours to occupy.

  For a while, she is content simply to observe the great sea, the hues of blue and green and grey, the swirling sea gulls, the turtle’s giant fins pulling through the water, soundlessly. But her thoughts soon turn to the little mermaid princess and her prince. She had been transformed; the prince had taken her into his castle—then why was she back in the sea a mermaid once more? Rune is tempted to jostle the old queen, but fears, and rightly so, that the queen may use her tail to slap Rune into the sea. And so, she imagines her reunion with Hans, running on her slender legs and tiny feet to embrace him. Perhaps an injury of some type would add to the drama . . . until a pod of Minke whales swims close by, blowing air like tea kettles and the queen awakens. She lifts her head and uncurls her body, then faces Rune with an accusatory expression.

  “Don’t look at me--it was those whales”, she says pointing to where plumes of water are visible. “Will you tell me now, please, your majesty, what happened after the prince took your grand daughter into his castle?”

  “Since you asked so nicely, I will tell you that she was dressed in silk and muslin and no other girl in the kingdom matched her beauty. There were scores of slave girls that sang and danced to please the prince, and at those times, my grand daughter sorely missed her incomparable voice. Still, the prince declared that she should never leave him and gave her permission to sleep in front of his door on a velvet pillow.”

  “What! Like a pet dog or cat?” Rune sputters.

  The old queen purses her lips together, and Rune says she is sorry for the interruption. The queen spits into the water. “No need, my thoughts exactly and it leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. My grand daughter was happy to do so, and to walk with him high into the mountain, ignoring her bleeding feet. At night while the others slept, she walked down the marble steps and cooled her feet in the water. One night, we all went to the surface, me, my son, and his daughters. We sang out our sorrow and stretched out our hands, but she would not come.”

  “She loved her prince,” Rune sighs, a fairy tale beauty sympathy sigh.

  “Yes, and she was sure he loved her as much, more than anyone else. With her eyes, she asked that question of him and he replied with a kiss on her forehead. He told her that she was dearest to him because of her kind heart and her devotion. He also said she reminded him of a girl he once saw and would likely never see again because she belonged to the temple, the girl that saved him when he was shipwrecked. She is the only girl in the world I can love, and you look like her; you nearly make her image disappear from my soul. Good fortune has sent you to me and we shall never part, he said.

  Rune grabs hold to the turtle’s shell in case the queen decides to knock her off for speaking out. “She told him it was she who saved him, right?”

  The queen gives Rune the fish eye and snaps, “She couldn’t speak, no tongue. She figured since the girl belonged to the holy temple, he would never see her, and she was happy to take care of him, love him and devote her life to him.”

  “Creechy! If he knew she had saved him, he would have proposed right then. She couldn’t talk, but she could use her hands, she could point at herself, mouth the words, “It was me—I saved you,” Rune sputters. “She could write a note . . . draw pictures, crap, I would draw a book with every detail.”

  “You are frothing at the mouth,” the queen says icily.

  Rune wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and takes three deep breaths. “Please tell me the rest; I won’t interrupt again.”

  “The king decreed that the prince should marry a neighboring king’s daughter, and he made a ship ready for the journey,” the queen continues. “The prince told my grand daughter
not to worry, that in fact, she must come along. He said that his parents could not force him to bring the princess back as his bride to be. I can’t love her, he said, because she is not the girl from the temple. If ever I marry, I shall most likely chose you, my foundling with the eloquent eyes. Then he kissed her on her lips and stroked her lovely hair.”

  Rune runs her palm over the top of her bristly head, imagining the feel of the silken blonde curls she had seen in the mirror.

  “The next day, the ship sailed into the port of the neighboring king. Bells rang out, trumpets blew, and banners flew. Every day there was a banquet, balls and parties, but the princess was not there because she was being educated in a holy temple. Then at last she arrived,” the queen says, arching her eyebrows high and looking down her nose at Rune, who was biting her lip so hard that drops of blood rolled down her chin.

  “Yes, the girl from the temple. The prince exclaimed, It is you, the one who saved me when I lay near death on the beach! And he embraced his blushing bride. The news was spread throughout the kingdom, the altars were adorned and the wedding took place. My grand daughter was dressed in silk and gold, and she held the train of the bride’s dress,” the queen stares out to sea. “She did not hear the music, nor did her eyes see the ceremony for the night would bring her death and her thoughts were on all she had loved and lost.