by Andi Adams
"With all due respect, Your Grace, the height is no more than that of your stature. You could probably lower yourself down and touch the ground before you'd have to jump at all."
"I am no giant, Madame. This branch is at least twenty paces off the ground. I will break my royal neck."
Is he drunk?!
"Sire, if I could get myself up,” she tried to heave herself out of the mud again to show him how stuck she was, "I would show you that you are not so high off the ground. About four paces, if that. Please, be the brave strong king you are and jump down to help a woman in distress."
"Uhh…all…all right." He tried to move his arms from around the trunk of the tree, but he wobbled a bit and threw his grip back around the oak. "Just give me a moment.…" He readjusted his grip and tentatively pushed his body away from the trunk. He braced his arms on the branch between his legs and continued to scoot himself backward until there was enough room between himself and the trunk for him to lay his stomach down, his legs still dangling toward the ground.
"All right now, I'm going to swing my leg over… that's it… and now lower myself slowly…. ARRRRGH!"
She watched him fall and he hit the ground with a distinctive thunk!
"AHHHHH! My arm! My shoulder! I think it's broken! Oh heavens! It's shattered into a million pieces! Great heavens!"
Oh. Dear. God.
Agrippine, realizing that the king was utterly useless, flopped over to her side and forced herself onto all fours. Her joints cried out, her hips snapped defiantly, and her wrists struggled to support her weight. She rose to her feet at the pace of pulling taffy, fighting to steady herself in the unstable mud below. When she straightened up as best as she could, she fixed her eyes on the man who sat at the base of the tree, nursing his arm and gently sobbing.
"They're surely going to get me now," he said. "I'm a sitting duck here, just waiting for one of those beasts to lop off my head."
As she watched him looking so child-like, so pathetic, an epiphany illuminated in Agrippine's mind. The answer she'd been looking for had been in front of her the whole time.
"Oh no no, Your Highness, I'll take care of you." Agrippine made her way over to Alaricus and knelt behind him. She pulled his broad shoulders toward her and patted his smooth locks, and he willingly succumbed to her soothing care. She stroked his head and shushed his cries, until he was lulled into a peaceful calm.
She continued the rhythmic rocking, while she jangled around in her satchel. "You know, when I was a little girl, I had a brother, well, a half-brother really. He was a handsome little thing, but he was mean and cruel and treated me terribly. You see, I didn't blame him, for he was young, and foolish and very much influenced by the abusive ways of our father. But I hated them, both. And through my hatred, I grew stronger, more independent. I've never needed anyone. I've learned to rely on only myself, on my strength, on my wit. Because truly, you can't trust anyone, dear brother." She interrupted her own words with the serpentine slice of her dagger's cold metal across the flesh of his throat. "Just as you should have never trusted me. I thought Father would have taught you better."
She smirked, lifted the dagger to thrust the blade into his heart, and quickly withdrew it. Now coated thick in syrup, she brought the metal to her lips and dragged her tongue along the blade, careful to not cut herself.
Delirium oozed from every fiber of her being, and immediately she could feel his strength growing inside her. Her muscles no longer ached. A delightful elongation of her limbs lifted her effortlessly to her feet. Her back straightened and her skin pulled tighter around her lean muscles. She didn't need the mirror to tell that her wrinkly skin was stretching and smoothing. With her youth and vitality returning, she enjoyed a triumphant laugh. She snatched the mirror once more from her bag and thrust it in front of her face.
She gasped in horror. Her skin, though more youthful, was rutted and uneven. Patchy pockets of fat distorted her once shapely face, and her brow bone protruded too far over her eyes. Black wiry hairs peppered her chin, and the grey nest of hair on her head struggled to regain its original crimson color. Her thin, cracked lips failed to mask a horrible mess of teeth overlapping in her mouth.
However, she was still much younger, faster, and stronger than she had been. Despite her appearance, she sighed and smiled a twisted grin, her teeth bucked and yellow. This new form was hideous, but temporary, and in it, she would have no trouble.
She would kill Genevieve once and for all.
31
The wind whipped outside, rattling Genevieve's bedroom windows and waking her from a dreamless sleep. She could hear a whistle through the cottage as it passed through the broken windowpane from where the soldiers had fled earlier. The glass rattled and the rain did not relent. She forced herself out of the bed to make her way to the hearth.
Tyne glanced over to her from his spot in the kitchen. "You're awake." From what she could tell, he was preparing dinner, slicing onions and dicing potatoes, while Flic aided in cleaning up the soldiers' soiled dishes and mugs.
Genevieve rubbed her eyes and yawned. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Only about an hour or two," Eron said from the couch. He leaned forward, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern. "I would have thought you would sleep all night with what you've been through. Are … are you all right?"
Am I all right? I don't know… am I? After all this, I wonder if I'll ever be.
She knew it would be selfish to confess her true feelings since there was nothing they could do. She mustered a weak smile and nodded her head.
"I'm as well as can be expected, I suppose."
Sib removed his spectacles and wiped them off on his tunic. "We're all here for you. You don't have to pretend to be brave or strong. God knows if we didn't have each other we would have all fallen apart by now." He replaced the glasses upon his button nose. "We miss Grog terribly. There's no denying that."
At the mention of Grog's name, a thick lump formed in Genevieve’s throat making it nearly impossible to swallow. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. She didn't want to cry. Not in front of them. She was the reason they had lost their brother. She had been too naïve, and her childishness had caused the death of a member of the closest thing she ever had to family. She would not allow them to take pity on her, not for her error in judgment.
"I… I'm so sorry. I never meant to… I never wanted… it's my fault." The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them.
"Oh, Snow, you can't blame yourself," Sib said. "It is because you are so good, so trusting, which is never a bad thing. We need more of you, more of that trust, in the world. Your only fault is that your heart is too pure. Only a few people in history can ever consider that their greatest flaw."
Sib stepped even closer and took her hand. He tugged her arm, gently pulling her down to her knees so he could look her in the eye. "What I was going to say was, though we miss Grog terribly, we are so grateful for your safe return. We had no idea what happened to you, what had happened that night. All we knew was that Grog was dead, and you… well, you were dead, and then you were gone. Never in our wildest dreams did we think we would see you again, especially not alive. We…we are blessed and grateful to have you here where you belong."
He enveloped her in a tight embrace, his little arms squeezing her with great force. She returned the gesture and allowed tears to stream freely down her face. She knew, without a doubt in her mind, she was finally home.
"Where is Flic?" Genevieve said. She had pitched in to help her brothers continue cleaning since she had woken up. After what seemed like hours of work, they were just about finished.
"Hmm, well, he indicated he was going outside to pick up whatever Alaricus' men left behind," Tyne said.
"How long has he been out there?" she said. "Isn't it still raining?"
"Yeah, but I think it's letting up," Eron said, as he continued to scrub a particularly stubborn mud stain from the couch. "And he doesn't mind the rai
n, never has."
A tinge of concern whittled at Genevieve's conscience.
"I'm going to see if he could use some help." Genevieve slung on a heavy cape of Tyne's that only reached a bit below her waist, pulled the hood up over her head, and slipped on a pair of Sib's work boots. The wind grabbed the door as she opened it, nearly flinging her outside with its force. Genevieve scanned the pitch where the king's camp once stood. Debris and garbage still littered the property, but there was no sign of Flic. She couldn't quiet the anxiety growing within her. Dark clouds rolled in and lightning pierced the sky with a flash.
"Flic? Fliiiiiic? Where are you? Fliiiiiic?" She called his name over and over, until his name filled the clearing with the resounding echo of her voice.
Nothing.
She searched with frantic concentration and caught sight of a spec of red in the near distance, the same red as Flic's tunic. The crimson stood out amongst the Earthly shades of the forest grove, and she cursed herself for not having seen it sooner. She took off running in its direction.
"Flic! Nooooo!"
The smallest dwarf lay motionless upon the ground, a small gash above his left eye. A drop of blood trailed down his face. Genevieve dove to his side to try to rouse him when a figure unveiled itself from the shadows. Even though there were close to twenty paces between them, Genevieve didn't miss the dagger clutched in the stranger's grip. Panic-stricken, she stared at the figure and, under the intense scrutiny, Genevieve noticed something familiar about her. The face was foreign, her body unrecognizable, but those eyes — she'd seen those eyes. She was certain somehow she had met this stranger before.
She shook Flic by the shoulders.
"Flic! Please wake up! Wake up!"
She didn't see any other wounds on his body. Perhaps he'd only been knocked out. She lowered her ear to his chest. She didn't know if she was hearing his heartbeat, or her own resounding in her ears. When he still didn't stir, she glanced again at the figure who was less than halfway across the clearing. A fiery impulse burned under her skin. Without thinking, she charged at the figure and plowed her down like a goaded bull.
The woman, though relatively small, was as solid as a sack of flour, and Genevieve heard her own shoulder pop against the impact. Her cry shattered the silence. As the two toppled over, a fleck of silver sliced through the air, catching the light as it spun. The flicker caught their attention, and the metal plinked as it hit a nearby rock. The stranger's eyes widened.
Time froze for a brief moment. Their focus narrowed upon the dagger plunged in the mud. They scrambled in a fit of desperation. The stranger clawed at Genevieve's leg as she crawled toward the knife. Genevieve dug her fingers into the soft ground, fighting to not lose her lead. Dirt packed under her nails, and her feeble grip, paired with her dislocated shoulder, was no match for the woman's strength.
Genevieve's body slogged to a halt, and the woman scurried forward, climbing right over her back. Genevieve thrust out her elbow out, straight into the woman's side, and the woman folded with an audible humph. She rolled onto her back, wheezing and panting in labored breaths. Her face only moments ago had been framed with wild hoary locks, but with each passing second, changed to reflect tresses changed the color of fire.
How is that happening?
But Genevieve didn’t have time to ponder something so trivial. She needed to grab the dagger and was running out of time.
With a surge of adrenaline, she lurched forward, her knees and arms slipping. The cool metal of the dagger's handle filled her with relief, and she used all of her might to unstick the blade from the Earth. The stranger, now standing, loomed over her in a shadowy haze. She thrust a swift kick into Genevieve's ribs, launching her away from the dagger. A snap ignited in her chest and she howled in pain. She grabbed her flank and curled into a ball. Shallow breaths forced the ache to radiate through her lungs and back. Another kick came, this time to her stomach, and she heaved as if to vomit. All of the lurching and movement made her body scream in agony. Her eyes stung with briny tears, and her body crumpled in exhaustion.
"I have waited a long, long time for this," the woman said, her words stinging Genevieve, like another blow. "Do you recognize me yet, you wreakful, conniving snake?" Another kick resulted in a guttural groan. "You have brought about my suffering in more ways than you could ever know, and now I will finally have my vengeance."
The stranger encircled Genevieve's stricken form like a vulture. Tightly woven into a ball, Genevieve positioned herself to protect her ribs, but her efforts were futile. Her breathing hissed out in a raspy wheeze.
Her brothers called from the distance. "Snooow!?" Her brothers called from the distance.
Do they see me? Are they coming to save—?
She stopped herself, conflicted about wanting them to come near. Perhaps they could help her. Maybe they could outnumber the stranger and could take Genevieve inside where it was safe. But on the other hand, maybe she was putting them in harm's way yet again.
Oh God, what will they do when they see Flic? I know they'll fight. Or, at least, they will try. I cannot lose any more of them. She is so strong, and I cannot have another brother's blood on my hands.
Her mind reeled with too many thoughts. Too many emotions. She was frozen, ensnared by her own agony and her inability to move. Genevieve could tell the woman heard them calling, as well. She would take action soon. Genevieve needed to focus.
Mud clouded her vision and the rain pelted down. Through narrow slits, she could see very little. Patches of moss. Rainwater spilling down the uneven Earth. She stretched her hand out, straining to grab at anything she could use for protection. Pain ripped through her ribcage with every movement of her arm, but she continued to stretch further to fumble for something, anything, to use against her assailant. Her fingers found a cold rock, the edges sharp and its weight substantial. She fought to lift it using only her fingertips, but the effort caused bolts of pain to fire into her hand, down her wrist, and ignite in her chest.
She bared her teeth and winced, but continued to wriggle her fingers down even further into the ground. She wrapped them fully around the rock and heaved her arm up, unsticking it with a wet slurp. The woman, now hurrying in the wake of the invading company, jumped on Genevieve and straddled her stomach, pinning her down. She wailed, the woman's weight pressed forcefully on her ribs. The woman pulled the dagger from her side with Genevieve tightly wedged under her strong legs, and raised it overhead.
The woman stared predatorily at her. "You did this to me. You made me into this."
"You must be mad. I've never seen you before in all my life. I am not the girl you want." Genevieve’s words flew rapidly from her mouth. She racked her brain with ways to stall the stranger, but struggled to think clearly.
A voice called out, "Unhand her!" Genevieve recognized it as Eron's.
The stranger whipped her head toward the sound of the interruption, and Genevieve took the moment to heave the rock into the side of the woman's face. The woman tumbled to the ground and again, the dagger sprang free. Tyne quickly retrieved the weapon, and Genevieve scurried away in the opposite direction from where she threw the woman. Eron tried to help Genevieve to her feet, and could see Sib inspecting Flic for signs of life.
Genevieve's tears helped rinse the dirt from her eyes. "I'm sorry. I was too late. I tried to stop her." She tried to wipe her cheeks with her dress, but it only smeared the grime more.
Genevieve fought to catch her breath, but remained hunched over, her gut still aching from the numerous blows. She wanted to feel comforted by her brothers' presence, but fear grew within her almost worse than the ache already fused in her core. She watched Eron's body straighten and tense. His shoulders tightened. His chest rose and fell. She could see the rage in his face and was terrified at what he might do next.
Tyne stood at the other side of the clearing with the dagger pointed toward the stranger. They had the villain surrounded, even though Tyne was a fair distance from them acro
ss the clearing. The woman seemed unconcerned with Genevieve and the others, but kept her focus on Tyne and the dagger extended toward her.
"Give that to me or else you'll end up worse off than your brother," she snarled at Tyne. He didn't waver.
She took a step toward him, and he slashed the knife through the air, a warning to come no closer. The woman halted and peered back at Genevieve, Eron, and Sib. Though Genevieve wanted to join her brothers and fight, she was badly hurt and struggled to stand up straight. She couldn't take in enough air. She exhaled in hisses and held her side with her throbbing arm.
Sib stepped forward and spoke, hiding his anger behind a mild tone. "Madame, don't act in madness. Just tell us who you are, and we will give you what you want. We assure you, we don't want any trouble here."
"Don't want trouble?" the woman said. "It's too late for that." She pointed at Genevieve with a crooked finger. "She is what I want. Hand her over, and I promise no trouble for you. But try to fight me, and I will kill you all."
"Might I remind you, Madame,that you are unarmed and outnumbered. It seems an outlandish threat to make given your current state."
"Do not provoke me, sir, for magic is a weapon unseen."
Sib remained quiet for a moment. "We seem to be at an impasse. You see, we will not hand over our sister to you. And you say you will not leave without taking her. You seem to be unarmed and could be bluffing about magical powers. But we aren’t looking for a fight.”
"Let me simplify it for you," the woman said. "I am taking the girl, either by your acquiescence or by force."
"All right, I see. Then before we begin our fighting, since, as I said before, there is no way we are giving her up without a fight, why do you want her? We live in the middle of nowhere. Town isn't far. Why not seek what you are looking for in another girl, in a more populated area, where you perhaps could find someone to go with you willingly?"
"You don't understand, I don't need a girl, I need that girl. I need Genevieve." Genevieve gasped, and her brothers turned to look at her. Her blood ran cold, her hands turned to ice, and a surge of heat raced to her face.