A Tale of Fur and Flesh

by Unknown

  “I heard it was the other way ‘round,” a skinny but equally obnoxious man accused. “I heard it was she who snuck into bed with the old king Galyn! He was the only man left in the whole of the kingdom she hadn’t firked.”

  All went quiet to Lally’s ears. The dancing continued, but she no longer heard the music. King Aelwyn’s lips moved, but she did not hear his words. Her ears pounded with the polluted blood pumping through her veins. She wanted to run, but her feet were stone. Her arms fell like weights at her sides. The bony man continued to laugh. Lally heard nothing, but when he threw his head back and his mouth wide open, she saw the specs of food in holes where teeth had once been.

  How dare he? Lally’s skin pricked. She felt like she was being stabbed with hot tapestry needles. What cruelty and malice of spirit would drive anyone to make such an accusation? She heard nothing but the thumping of her own heart. Without considering the consequences, Lally formed a fist and swung it sideways, up and into his laughing jaw.

  The emaciated man looked at her incredulously. For a moment, she felt nothing but self-satisfaction. And then Lally could hear again. Over the din of the hurdy-gurdy, the skinny man yelled and the fat man backed him. What was she playing at? Where did she get off hitting a stranger out of the blue like that? A stinging pain shot through Lally’s arm. Her hand throbbed. When had this tremendous crowd appeared?

  When she turned to flee, she ran directly into the king’s chest. She dared not look into his eyes, fearing the disappointment she would find there. Ducking under his arm, she flew as fast as her feet would carry her, through the dark night, to the palace. Stomping down the kitchen stairs, she scooped up her mantle and threw it over her silver dress before Cook caught sight of it. “Well, where in the name of all that’s good have you been? I said half an hour, hairy animal!”

  “My apologies,” Lally panted, wincing at the pain in her knuckles. “But the girl with the golden hair appeared at the festivities once again. She wore a gown as silver as moonlight and she punched a man in the jaw. There was such excitement, I simply couldn’t leave.”

  “The girl is back? Is she still out there?” Cooked begged, racing towards the staircase. “I’m going to have a look. You make the soup and be sure not to…”

  “Not to get any hair in it,” Lally said to herself, for the cook was out of earshot.

  Slipping the mantle from her shoulders and throwing it in the corner, Lally filled a bowl with cold water and seated herself on the furs. Plunging her sore hand into the soothing liquid, she hoped that malicious man’s jaw stung worse. What horrendous cruelty. How could people say such things?

  In her small closet, Lally removed her gown and replaced it with snakeskin and tattered silk. But, then, what if there was some truth in what those horrible men said of her? She collapsed into layers of peltry. What if tales of her rampant carnality had lured her father from his hermetic life? Or was her womanly form to blame? Her father had not seen her since childhood, and suddenly she was full-grown and looking too much like her mother. Perhaps she had tempted him in the copper gown with the low front. Perhaps her face, her hair, her body, were too lovely to resist. Perhaps father’s lunacy was entirely her fault.

  No! How could she think that way? Father was affected. Lally petted her scalp where he’d pulled her hair. Did it still feel tender, even one year later, or was she imagining the ache? A queer sense of emptiness took over as she sat staring into the oven’s flames. Feeling nothing, neither pain nor joy, she watched the fire dance. Red, orange, yellow. Its heat warmed her face. Again, her knuckles ached.

  Rising to prepare the bread soup, Lally reflected on life’s unfairness. Endlessly, she toiled for the king and in returned received nothing more than a dark closet in which to sleep. What did he know of her efforts? Nothing! What did he care for her? The whole world hated the hairy animal she’d become.

  When the king’s soup was prepared, Lally placed in the bottom of the bowl the golden needle from her mother’s dresser. Perhaps the king would choke on it. He deserved to. As she waited for Liam to arrive for the soup, Lally paced the floor. She stood, she sat, she lay in her closet, but pain shot through her hand. Her legs were a bundle of nerves. Too restless to remain indoors, she enrobed herself in peltry and left the kitchen, traipsing through the vegetable garden and into the woods.

  Chapter Seven

  Wandering wounded and alone, Lally came to the cave in which she had met Great Bear on her journey northward. Now it was deserted. She sat in the pile of leaves and thought about their encounter. She had feared him, at first. He was massive. Even after his transformation, he had the hairiest body Lally had ever seen. She lay on her side, facing away from him, and begged him to be quick.

  “All phenomena shall transpire in their own time,” Great Bear told her.

  Looking out into the wilderness through the mouth of the cave, she listened to Great Bear’s low rumbling voice and no longer felt anxious. “What does that mean?” Lally asked, folding her hair into a pillow beneath her head.

  “It means it is for neither you nor I to decide when a nutshell will crack.”

  Allerleirauh understood now. What good would three gowns have done her in the woods? What good would they have done her when she put the nut under the bedstead with councillor Offal? If anything, they would have been cumbersome and added to Lally’s already-weighty burden. Looking back, she realized how fortunate it was that mother’s walnut cracked in its own time. But back then, in the cave with Great Bear, she was anxious for the shell to open up and reveal its contents. “But what of my will?” Lally protested. “If I put my best efforts into some endeavour, should it not succeed?”

  “Perhaps,” replied Great Bear. “Perhaps not. Your will does not determine the success of your endeavours.”

  “What? That makes no sense,” Lally argued. “My parents taught me that if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Is that not so?”

  “That is indeed so,” Great Bear agreed. “But after trying a great many times and being unsuccessful, one must re-evaluate. There is a reason for your failure. It could be your method. It could be your intention. Those are reasons easy to accept. But it could also simply be the wrong time. All phenomena shall transpire in their own time.”

  Lally shivered. “Will you lie with me?” she surprised herself by asking. “I tremble in the cold.”

  “You see?” asked Great Bear. “All phenomena shall transpire in their own time.”

  When his furry chest met her back, his heat soothed her. His breath was hot against her neck. Taking Great Bear’s hand in hers, she found his palm covered in fur. Lally laughed, reminded of an old wive’s tale she’d heard from a shepherd of her acquaintance. Great Bear placed his warm palm over her heart. She gasped. The sensation was akin to being held tight in her parents’ arms as a child, but the sentiment was tinged with physical passion and psychological fascination. Great Bear’s warmth opened her heart and poured into it the love of all creation.

  The affection spread through her body until she ached for Great Bear’s hands to touch her everywhere. She pulled her black bustier down, releasing her pale breasts into his fuzzy hands. It was the height of luxury, that sensation of fur against the tender flesh of her nipples. They hardened under Great Bear’s expert caress. When she closed her eyes, she was transported. No longer was she in a damp, dark cave, but back in her castle with all her sumptuous belongings.

  Great Bear’s other hand wandered down her front until his hairless fingers found her mound. Her flesh warmed as he stroked there. Just as she craved for her cunt to be filled by the great male, his thick meat appeared at its gateway. Great Bear entered her cavern with heaving effort, despite her flowing juices. As they loved in comforting silence, Bear swaddled her in his warm fur. She was safer than she’d ever been. Closing her eyes and cuddling back into the bear’s chest, she felt like a butterfly in its chrysalis. Perfect serenity, perfect peace. Could they not stay like this forever?

  As Gre
at Bear rubbed her mound in broad circles, Lally writhed against his fingers. She pressed his hand hard against her flesh as he thrust calmly, firmly within her. His furry palm caressed her tender breasts and Lally felt secure. She was loved. Before encountering Great Bear, Lally had never experienced a truly explosive reaction to a lover. The furry creature rocked inside her core as he stroked the sensitive flesh of her mound. She felt as though her heart had burst into thousands of tiny butterflies and taken flight throughout her body. Warmth enveloped her form and serenity, her mind. Time stopped. She felt safe and protected in Great Bear’s hold. His body led hers to ecstasy. She cried out as though her soul were leaving her body. Consciousness escaped her. Sleep took hold. When she awoke, she was wrapped in Great Bear’s huge pelt. It had been more than enough to complete her mantle, but her heart ached for the man inside the fur. He had gifted her with peace and wisdom.

  Allerleirauh would give anything to feel that way again. To feel safe, to feel loved, in the arms of the king. Of the king? Lally’s heart beat quickly, and she smiled. Covering her mouth with her fingers, she stroked her lips, remembering King Aelwyn’s soft kiss. She had kissed many men. She had seduced men on whims in what now seemed like her youth. King Aelwyn was different. She loved him.

  Through the intensity of her emotion, Lally recalled what she’d done in the kitchen. The needle in the soup. How could she harm the man she adored? Her knuckles throbbed as she leapt to her feet, darting through the darkness of the woods. She must stop the king from eating from that bowl. Under the night sky, he would certainly consume the needle without seeing it. He could die, as Snake did.

  Concern carried her through the forest, narrowly avoiding trees, leaping over stones and branches. Her wolf’s mask bobbed before her eyes. When she came to a clearing, the festival’s fiery colours and floating lamps came into view. Though her side cramped and her hand throbbed, Lally ran on through the clearing. As she wheezed, she tasted blood in her throat. The drummer played on where she had earlier danced with the king.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, there were more guests at the festival than there had been earlier. Her heart pounded. Shuffling through the crowd, she caught sight of the king just as he lifted his soupspoon to his mouth.

  “Stop!” cried Allerleirauh, attracting everyone’s attention but the king’s.

  “What are you doing here?” Liam instigated from his position at the king’s elbow. “Hairy animals belong indoors.”

  Lally did not respond. Liam’s insult made no sense. Hairy animals belonged out of doors, did they not? She ran straight up to King Aelwyn and gazed into his soup bowl. It was empty of all contents. Lally choked back tears. He would surely die, and she would be twice a murderer.

  “Your bread soup was once again delicious, furry creature,” the king cheered. “You must teach Cook to prepare it, in case you are one day unable to serve here at the palace.”

  What did that mean? Had the king already begun to fall ill? Were they preparing the gallows for poor Lally? “You ate it all?” she asked, hoping he might have spilled some and lost the needle.

  “Everything but this,” King Aelwyn replied, holding a thin shiny object between his thumb and forefinger. “I wonder where you might have found a golden needle. They are most uncommon. And why, still, might you have placed it in my meal?”

  Her knuckles throbbed. Lally massaged her aching hand as she lied. “I know not from whence that object came. Was it really in your bowl? How strange.”

  “It’s a mystery, then, like the thread,” said the king, sporting a suspicious grin on his full pink lips.

  “It is a mystery indeed,” answered Lally.

  “What good are you if you can’t answer the king’s questions?” the infuriating Liam spat.

  Through gritted teeth, Lally replied, “I am good for nothing but to have carrots thrown at my head.”

  “You may go now, hairy animal,” Liam said, but Lally could not leave without a final look at the king. His dark eyes twinkled with the flutter of candle flames glowing overhead. Did he suspect her? Could he tell from the eyes behind her wolf’s mask that the hairy animal was Allerleirauh? Had he deduced, for that matter, that Allerleirauh was Princess Lally of the Southern Kingdom? There were far too many layers to her existence. Oh, for a time when life was simple.

  “Go!” Liam again instructed, pushing Lally toward the palace. She grasped her throbbing knuckles.

  “Are you injured, furry creature?” the king called out. The concern in his low voice stopped Lally in her tracks.

  “No, your highness,” she replied meekly as she set off toward the palace.

  Why must he not discover her true identity? Ah yes, because the threat of war loomed large. Despite her father’s lunacy, Lally did not wish to see his kingdom taken from him. Father had been a just and decisive leader when mother was alive. And yet, what good did he for the people in his current state? Perhaps he ought to be dethroned. Was this the conclusion King Aelwyn had reached?

  The following morning, Lally told Cook she injured her hand fetching water. “These fingers are really paining you, aren’t they?” Cook asked with something like pity in her gaze.

  Lally nodded. “I imagined my condition would improve overnight, but just the opposite has happened.”

  Cook launched a queer glance in her direction. “I thought you said your hurt yourself carrying the water.”

  Lally had tripped up. “Yes, I meant carrying the water yester-morning. My fingers pained me all day, but I said nothing as we were so busy preparing for the festival.”

  “Poor beast,” answered Cook in a comforting tone. “Well, don’t you worry. I know how to make a splint from string and twigs, and a compress from forest herbs. We’ll have that hand feeling better in no time.”

  After pulverizing the herbs and placing them in a cloth against Lally’s hand, the cook bound it in twigs. Lally’s suffering seemed to bring out the best in her. “I’ll tell you what’s funny,” the cook laughed. “Before this, here I was thinking you were a witch!”

  “A witch?” Lally winced as Cook tied the string around the twigs. “Why-ever would you think such a thought?”

  “Because the king always liked the soup what you made for him. I was thinking it were an enchanted soup you cast a spell on, like you thrown in some bat’s blood and eye of newt.” The cook chuckled until she snorted. “But here now you’ve injured your little fingers. If you were a witch, you could heal ‘em up yourself.”

  “I suppose so,” Lally agreed.

  Cook rose from her stool and wiped her hands on her apron, already grey with the soot in the air. “Well, you’d better get started plucking the fowl. With only one hand, your day’s tasks are bound to take twice as long.”

  Small mercies were all Lally could hope for anymore. Cook changed her herbal compress every day until the hand was healed. She allowed her to eat more than just scraps for her meals, and asked that Lally call her Berthe. In all the months she lived in the kitchen, Lally never realized she did not know the cook’s name.

  Chapter Eight

  Soon the weather became cool and the leaves fell to the ground in crisp heaps. As the harvest feast drew near, Lally grew anxious. Would it be terribly unwise of her to ascend the kitchen stairs once again? Yes, her thoughts dwelled constantly upon him, but last time they met, she ended by assaulting a man! Perhaps she would now face the consequence of her misbehaviour.

  In the heart of a nineteen-year-old girl, even if she was old beyond her years, love was sure to triumphs. Thus, on the evening of the harvest feast, Lally told Berthe she planned to endeavour upstairs. The cook did not argue. “You’re young, little creature,” Berte said. “Best to enjoy life before you’re old and withered like me.”

  The change in Berthe touched Lally deeply. There was something of her mother’s kindness in the cook after all. When Lally dressed in the third of her mother’s gowns, she prepared to sprint up the staircase. There was one problem: Berthe stood leaning agai
nst the worktop, staring at the closet.

  “What’s that bright light shining through the cracks in your cupboard door?” Berthe asked. “It sparkles like starlight. Deary me, I can’t stop gawking at it! What you got in there?”

  There was only one way out. And, really, she had no other friend but Berthe. Why not share her secret? Lally opened the flimsy wooden door and revealed her human form to the cook. Her golden hair fell like rays of sunlight against her pale skin. Under the horrible wolf’s head and hideous mish-mash of peltry, she was not hairy at all, and hardly an animal.

  Berthe covered her gaping mouth with one hand as she held herself upright against the worktop. “Hairy animal, is that really you?”

  “Please, call me…” Which name would the princess select today? “Allerleirauh.”

  “Mercy me! My little kitchen pet has transformed right before my very eyes. A greater beauty I’ve never seen. Why, you ought to get yourself upstairs to dance with that king of ours afore that little blonde missy shows her…” Berthe stopped mid-sentence. Her wide eyes revealed what her mind had just pieced together. “It was you all those times!”

  “Only twice,” Lally smirked.

  “Wait ‘til the king finds out he’s been lusting after a kitchen rat all summer,” Berthe cackled.

  Perish the thought! Lally’s chest went numb. A ghostly ache shot through her knuckles. “No, you mustn’t tell him!”

  “Why ever not? Seems to me our king has a fine sense of humour,” Berthe reasoned.

  Was she trying to be cruel, or was cruelty just an inextinguishable part of her nature? And even if the king could find humour in most matters, Lally could not help but recall King Aelwyn’s displeasure when she assumed he hailed from elsewhere but the North. Perhaps he would not find Allerleirauh’s box of secrets terribly amusing either. “Pray, allow me to tell him myself,” Lally pleaded.