by Taryn Tyler
“ Hans.” The name felt like wool scraping out of my swollen throat.
“Snow.” His lips twisting into the ghost of a smile. His face and hands were dusted in fresh earth.
“How did she know?” I asked. “How did Lucille know I would eat that apple?” Lad had taken it from the kitchen. Had she known he was there all along?
Hans shrugged. “Her magic is incomprehensible to me. Sometimes I think she sees inside our souls. She must have wanted to make sure.”
“She made sure three times.” I said “And I'm still not dead. Unless . . . “ I backed away from him. “Did she send you?”
He shook his head. “I escaped from the dungeon. Boris released me last night. He wanted a distraction. I didn't realize why until I'd already gone. If I had known why . . . I might have still gone. I don't know. I never was a saint.”
“You saved me.” I said. “Three times.”
“But I've killed before, Snow --some younger than you were-because Lucille commanded it.”
It was true. It was him who I had seen lead the lost girl up to the tower.
“Why not me?” I asked.
“I don't know. You were . . . brave. Resilient. I saw a fighter in you.”
I shook my head. “I locked myself in my room and pretended nothing had happened.”
“You stayed alive. The only way you knew how. I've seen grown men lose their wits over less than the things you saw in that manor.”
“Where is Rose?” I asked. “Was Rose in the manor when you left it?”
“She's alive.” Hans said but the words came slowly and his tone didn't give me the comfort I had wanted. “Come with me.” He took me by the arm and pulled me onto my feet. “Lucille will make sure one last time.”
I staggered to keep up with Hans as he led me through the wood to a freshly dug pit. We stopped at the rim. It was well dug, deeper than it was wide. Fresh upturned dirt clumped around the edge of the dark space.
“A hunting pit.” I said.
Hans nodded. “I've been working on it through the night. Lucille will send her wolf next.”
Phantom aches simmered in my foot and shoulder. Her wolf. Otto had been right.
“The pit should be deep enough to hold him.” Hans pulled what looked like a pair of dirt covered fire tongs out of his vest. “It wasn’t easy with these but it was all I could grab on my way out of the dungeon. ”
I helped him cover the pit. We stomped the piles of dirt flat then snapped branches off the surrounding trees and gathered bits of brush to cover the earth surrounding it in a prickly green carpet. I didn't like watching the sun rise high through the trees as we worked. Not with Rose still in the manor. When we were finished at last we only knew where the hole was from memory.
Something moved in the bushes. Footsteps. A low growl.
“Boris.” Hans said.
More footsteps. Closer.
Hans looked up, eyeing the branches of the tree above us. He lifted his finger to his lips. I nodded in understanding.
The first tree branch wasn't hard to reach. I gripped my palms around the bark and hoisted myself up, then waited for Hans. He pulled himself up into the tree across from me just as the wolf creature stepped into view. My shoulder and foot began to ache.
The wolf creature sniffed the ground, his ears back, his eyes intent. He circled my tree first, then Hans's. He stopped, sniffing at the air.
I looked across the way at Hans. “Boris?” I mouthed, remembering the young man Papa had rescued me from having to marry so many years ago. His charming smile and village raids. I wasn't surprised to learn that he was a wolf as well as a monster.
Hans nodded.
I looked at the knife in my hand. The pain in my shoulder hadn't been this strong when the wolf had first bit his teeth into the flesh.
Boris sat beneath the tree. The fur on his skin began to thin. He twitched, writhing from side to side like a bag of bones as his body began to change.
If I sat still he would never reach me. He might be able to climb in his human form but he couldn't smell me. If I stayed where I was, if didn't move, if I didn't breathe, I would be safe.
But he already knew where we were. He’d sensed us in his wolf form.
I gripped my knife tighter. My palms itched with sweat. I had gone up against Boris before and I would have died if it hadn't been for Hans.
I glanced at Hans in the tree across from me. He didn't move. He watched Boris with the careful stillness of a hunter. We only had one shot from up here. One shot and if I missed he would run.
My heart thundered in my chest. I edged toward the far end of the branch, balancing on the long narrow space. I grabbed hold of the bark with my hand then dropped myself onto the ground.
Dry leaves scattered beneath my feet. The wind brushed over my face. I stared at Boris, standing in a tiny pool of sunlight halfway between his human and wolf forms. His bones stuck out at the sockets. His hairless snout twisted into an almost human grin.
“Not this time.” I said. I turned and ran.
I felt him bound after me. The earth shook with the clamor of his paws. He released a long, chilling howl that tangled itself into my ears only a few short inches from the back of my neck. My own feet beat against the ground in an inconsistent drum beat, pushing me forward one spring after the other.
Not this time. He wasn't going to pierce my flesh again. He wasn't going to rob my consciousness and banish me to the place of nightmares. I pulsed with the rhythm of my footsteps, crumbling leaves and snapping bits of twig as I passed over them. One foot after the other.
Fifty seven. Fifty eight. I counted them as I ran. I could hear the heavy heave of his breath, getting closer and closer.
I stopped. For the sliver of a heartbeat. For the breadth of eternity.
He stepped nearer. Too near. Near enough for me to feel the scorch of his sweltering breath. Like the heated iron of Lucille's shoes.
I swiveled and changed direction through the trees, circling back the way I had come. Step after step after step. My limbs felt like air, heavy and cold, impossible to move. But I moved them, hoping I had given Hans enough time.
Boris howled again. He snarled and snapped at the back of my dress. A piece of my skirt tore off.
I ran faster. If I didn't stop I wouldn't shake with fright. If I didn't stop I couldn't realize how close I was to the clench of his teeth.
Running. That's all I had to do. That's all there was. My footsteps and his pounding after them.
Fifty eight. Fifty nine. I was almost back to where I had started. One more step and --
My toe hit a rock. I stumbled and toppled onto the ground. My shins ached from the impact. My elbow scraped against the earth. I rolled onto my back.
Boris stood over me. His gold wolf's eyes glowed with triumph.
I shook my head, backing away on my elbows. A little to the left. Just a few more inches back.
Boris mirrored my motions. The leaves crunched beneath his paws, breaking apart into a crisp powder. And then –
He whimpered, releasing a sharp yelp as he fell into the pit. His claws brushed across my ankles as he dropped past me.
Hans stepped out from behind a tree. “Are you alright?”
I nodded, rising to me feet. “Shaken.” I said “Scratched.”
“Poor Snowy-white.” Boris's human voice whined from inside the pit “Mother's no-longer-favorite pet the Hunter couldn't protect her from a little scratch. I think you broke my ankle.”
Hans stepped toward the edge of the pit. He looked down into the gaping hole. “We're not finished with you yet, Boris.”
Boris laughed. A short, whimpering bark. “Mother doesn't care what I do to you anymore Hans. I can shred you to as many pieces as I like and she'll only laugh when I bring them to her.”
Hans growled. “You won't be bringing her anything from down there.”
“Do you want to know, Snow, why I didn't finish you off when I found out that Hans didn't -- when I fo
llowed you back from Copshire?”
I joined Hans at the edge of the pit. Boris stood at the bottom of the darkness in his naked human form. He stood on one foot, leaning against the dirt to support a swelling ankle. Grime smudged his nose and covered the palms of his hands but the rest of his skin was pink and fresh as if he'd only just climbed out of the womb. He smiled up at me and I wondered how I had ever thought his smile was charming.
“Rose.” His voice bit into the name as if it were a dark and savory pastry. “Your sweet Rosy-red-witch. Did you know that we used to jump off cliffs together in the dark while you were off hunting? And last night –well, you'll never know her like that will you?”
I clenched my hand around my knife hilt, lifting it to release into his heart. The sooner he was unable to talk the better the world would be. I gritted my teeth to keep from striking too soon. “Where is Rose?”
“Dead.” Boris said. “Or will be by the time I get back to the manor with whatever's left of you.” He set his swollen foot on the ground, reaching up for the rim of the pit in the same movement. His fingers closed over the earth. He was moving too fast for a clean strike. By the time I had taken aim he had already flung himself upward, gaining momentum as he changed form. His paws slammed into Hans's chest. His teeth closed over Hans's throat. They both fell to the forest floor, scattering leaves and dust.
“No.” I leapt toward them. I landed on Boris's back and dug my blade into his shoulder all the way down to the hilt. He snarled, rising up onto his hind legs. The force of the motion flung me back across the pit. I landed on the other side with my leg twisted under my back.
Boris turned to face me. Hans's blood dripped from the toothed chasm of his snout. His haunches rose as he prepared to leap. I rolled to one side. He flew over the pit, landing where I had just been. His sharp claws dug into the damp earth.
I jumped to my feet. My blood raged. With anger. With pain. With fear.
Boris growled. My knife was still lodged into the back of his shoulder.
I stepped away from the pit. He shadowed the movement. His bloody teeth snapped at my shins. I stepped back.
I stepped in the other direction instead, teetering on the edge of the pit.
Boris stayed where he was, knowing he would fall if he judged the leap wrong, or perhaps merely waiting for me to fall in. I looked down into the darkness. Nine feet? Ten? Not far enough to kill but far enough to trap someone as short as me. I looked up, turning to face Boris.
He blinked, poised to pounce, waiting for the inevitable.
I closed my eyes, turned back toward the pit, and jumped.
Pain shot into my ankles as I landed. I rocked back, balancing myself on both feet. A whir of fur sank toward me from above.
One step was all there was room for. One step was all that it took.
Boris landed on three of his four feet beside me. I kicked his injured back paw, then reached for the knife in his shoulder with both hands.
He whimpered as I pulled the blade down, cutting deeper and wider into the flesh before I ripped it out. Dark, warm blood dribbled over his fur, over my wrists, and onto the cold, damp earth. I kicked him again. My foot lodged into the soft space of his belly.
It wasn't an animal whimper he released this time. It was a human cry. His fur thinned one last time as he writhed and wriggled against the ground like a worm until he was once again in his naked human form. He still had Hans's blood on his teeth and chin. His hazel eyes watered with pain. He stared up at me.
“Snowy-white,” he said, his body limp, motionless. “Will you kill your Rosy's lover dead?”
I bent down close so that he could see my face in the darkness of the pit. He stared at me, his eyes pleading, poisoned with pain. I could have told him that my shoulder still hurt when it was cold. I could have told him how Rose had never cried when her Gran died but that I could tell she was heartbroken. I could have told him how much I hated him for touching her or that Hans had been the only friend I had had left from my childhood.
I could have told him how much he had hurt me, how much I wanted him dead, but he already knew. He had always known and he hadn't cared until this moment as I stood over his helpless body – nearly twice the size of mine -- with a knife.
“Yes.” Was all I said and thrust the blade into his heart. Once. Twice. Three times. Just to be sure. Blood glistened off the blade and hilt.
He was dead. Gone. Just like Papa.
He was nothing like Papa.
I stepped onto his body and used it to shorten the climb out of the pit.
I pulled myself up onto the ground. “Hans.” I said but I knew he wouldn't answer. Boris's teeth had cut deep. He couldn't hear me. He would never hear anything again.
“Hans.”
I walked around to the other side of the pit where his body lay. Blood spilled out of his throat, right across his jugular where he had shown me to kill rabbits. Chunks of flesh were missing where I could see the jagged marks of Boris's teeth.
I knelt next to him, pulling his arms and legs straight, hoping it would make him look more at peace. He stared up at me. At nothing.
Hans. Lucille's huntsman. A killer. My friend. Twice he had risked his life to give me a chance to live. This time he had lost it.
I touched my fingers to his eyelids. Still warm. His eyelashes were soft even though his skin had long since calloused to the harshness of the outdoors. My hands weren't soft anymore either. I rolled his eyes shut, closing his soul forever to the world.
He didn't look peaceful. He didn't look asleep. He just looked dead. Gone. Like Papa. Like Constanze. Like Dana and Elise. Like Rose's Gran. All because they wouldn't bow to the power of Lucille's whims.
I rose to my feet, holding my knife tight in my fist. It was time for me to find Lucille. Time for me to go home.
Rose
I laid down in the hay with my back to the door and waited for Lucille's men to come for Greta. I listened as they scuttled up the stairs, as they rattled with the lock, and flung the door open. Greta stood in the center of the room. She didn't speak but she must have shown them the heart. Rough grunts and shouts turned to a chorus of incredulous whistles.
“Didn't think you had it in you, Gret.” One of them said. “ I thought the witch would kill her.” Another said. “The younger ones have more strength.”
Footsteps creaked toward me, heavy against the wooden floor. I held my breath, willing my entire body to be still. Greta had helped me smear blood on my shift where my heart was meant to have been cut out of my chest. The shift was ripped open but if they turned me onto my back they would see that there was no hole in the flesh.
“It smells like death in here.” Someone said.
A boot thumped against my back. Saliva swirled above me then fell in a splatter behind my neck. “Shame really.” The owner of the saliva said. “She was a pretty thing. Old enough for a tumble too.”
“Well then, mistress spinner, lead the way. You're the one with the trophy to show the queen.” The speaker chuckled. “If the queen doesn't have you bitten with her snakes. I've got one you can have. I don't care how young they are so long as they know when to scream.”
Feet shuffled again. Soft, careful steps first, steady and quiet. That was Greta. Then it was clatter after clatter of heavy, hurried steps, pounding after her. The booted man standing above me left last. He spat another puddle of saliva then turned and clattered toward the door.
He didn't lock it. Why would he? There was nothing in here but a corpse.
I forced myself to stay still, not to leap up and run for the door, not to pilfer through the wind looking for Snow again, not to scream at Lucille's soldiers to leave Greta alone, not to run at them with the knife they'd left in the hay, smothered in deer's blood.
How long would the deception give us. An hour? Two?
My heart beat wildly inside my chest. The mildew smell of Greta's sick filled my nose. Straw prickled against my skin. I didn't like holding still. It reminded me
of being pinned down, unable to move, of . . .
I counted the steps as Greta led the procession of scuttling men further and further away, down, down into the heart of the manor house. Fifty. Sixty. Three hundred and twenty seven.
At last I could no longer hear them. I sat up. The door was ajar, hungry for me to pass through it, but there was one last task before I was free. I closed my eyes, listening. For every fox, every bear, every vulture, every flesh eating creature I could conjure.
Calling the doe had weakened me. Commanding the hawk had left me exhausted. But I didn't care. I wasn't going to be stopped. If the manor servants saw the carrion outside they would guess what Greta and I had done. They would tell the queen and Greta and I would both end up dead.
My head hurt. My arms and legs shook. My stomach cramped and heaved as if it were hungry and overfull at the same time. I was a wolf, sniffing the ground for his prey. I was a hawk, clamping his claws around the fragile bones of a mouse. I was a badger, separating flesh from fur. My feet touched the ground. My nose twitched. My wings touched the air. An insect landed on my ear. My teeth ground the raw flesh of a dove into a paste I could swallow.
I listened, straining to hold myself together. I was everything. I was nothing. Scattered in so many pieces. So many hungry pieces.
Come. I said. Dinner.
Snow
The warden stared at me when he opened the gate. I remembered him. He had been Papa's warden long before Lucille had ever come to the manor. He liked to complain about the rain and that he and his wife had no children but I always thought that he was secretly glad for both. He stared at me, his mouth open, waiting for me to speak first.
I didn't.
“You shouldn't be here.” He said at last.
“I live here.” I said.
He stared some more. At my ripped skirt and bare feet. At the
blood splattered over my bodice and still drying on my little silver knife.