by Hal Bodner
Robert Holt lives in the St. Louis area. He is the author of a horror novel Death’s Disciples, a collection of children’s stories titled The Vegetarian Werewolf and Other Stories, and a plethora of short stories that can be found in anthologies and on the web. Look him up on Twitter, Facebook, and Wordpress at Holthorror.
A Prick of the Quill
A retelling of “Hans My Hedgehog”
Lizz-Ayn Shaarawi
The rooster’s crow was the first inkling I had that something was terribly wrong. It was not the sound of the little cocks running through the courtyard, pecking at the toes of those who lingered too long. No, this was a bellow that shook shutters and spooked old women.
The noise caused me to jerk my head up, neglecting my needlepoint in my lap. Silly little Agnes raced in, her face flushed from exertion.
“Eloise, come quick! A stranger’s arrived.” She glanced down at my hands and cringed. “You’re bleeding again.”
I followed her gaze. My right hand, acting of its own accord, had jabbed the needle into the tender flesh of my other hand. I quickly pinned the needle to the cloth and bade her to fetch me a hand towel to wipe the blood away.
My father refused to meet my gaze as I entered the throne room. This was nothing new, for in the previous weeks he’d become distant and cold. I had no idea what I had done to anger him, what petty offense could have caused his normally warm heart to freeze.
One day my father, King of Cadfan, went out hunting as he was wont to do. A large party accompanied him, as was the custom. Always a sporting man, it gave him much pleasure to ride through the thick woods and chase down a stag or boar. He’d return victorious each time without fail.
Until the day he didn’t.
He left in a hail of fanfare, dogs and riders, pages and knights each vied for an opportunity to be near him. Strong, brave, and wise, he was a much beloved King. I gave no thought beyond the dress I planned to wear to the feast of Saint Bartholomew. Allowing a quick brush of his lips on my cheek, I did my daughterly duty and rushed back to the castle.
At mid-day the hunting party hadn’t returned. No matter, a particularly aggressive prey may have led them on a prolonged chase. As the afternoon sun sank lower on the horizon, murmurs spread through the castle. The hunting party never stayed out this late. What if something happened to the king?
The last rays of sunlight drifted behind the trees. I sat at my place beside the throne at the high table. The air was tense and there was little chatter to alleviate the mood. A light meal was presented, the servants awaiting the wild game they were sure would come.
A shrill trumpet blast signaled the party’s return. I bolted to my feet but soon remembered my place and returned to my seat. Minutes drug on like an eternity. At last, the heavy wooden double doors opened and the party filed into the banquet hall. I searched the faces that entered before me yet none belonged to my father. Finally, Sir Thomas, my father’s favorite knight knelt before me.
“Arise, Sir Thomas.”
“Milady, I have grave news.”
“Do you care to confer with me or shall I remain ignorant of my father’s fate?”
“Milady … the forest has taken him.”
My knees wobbled but I held my ground. “What does this mean?”
“We chased a boar all the morn. The King was tenacious, never tiring. The creature was wounded dozens of times yet refused to die. In one last fit to save his life, the boar charged into a thicket and his highness followed. The thicket masked a deep drop. Your father fell and rolled down a steep hill. By the time we reached the bottom, he was gone.”
“You will search the woods until he’s found. He might be injured or lost.”
“It was a steep climb, Milady.”
“Speak plainly.”
“We fear the king is dead and animals have carried his body off.”
“Then you will not rest until his corpse is recovered.”
Sir Thomas nodded but already I observed defeat in his eyes. And like vultures, the ministers and knights circled me. Any weakness would be a sign to strike so I held back my tears and kept my head high.
I slept not a wink that night. My pale form could be seen from the window, a wraith keeping watch.
As dawn broke, the hounds leapt to their feet and howled. I left my perch and raced down through the courtyard. I pressed past the guards and slipped through the gates the moment they opened.
A dark shadow trudged from the woods.
I charged towards the figure, my heart slamming in my chest. As I came closer, my father’s features emerged from the dirty, ragged shape. His head lifted. His eyes met mine. They widened in horror and he bellowed a single word. “NO!”
As I reached him, he threw me aside and continued on to the castle. Confused, I scrambled to my feet and followed. “My Lord, God praise your safe return. We feared the worst. Pray tell, what transpired in your absence?” He ignored me but dropped to his knees and railed to the heavens. Curses of the like I have never heard before or since passed my father’s lips in rage.
He hadn’t looked at me since.
Now summoned, I curtsy before him like any other noble. “You asked for me?” I put on as neutral tone as I could muster.
To my surprise, his face lifted and greeted me with tears in his eyes. “Forgive me, my sweet.”
“What forgiveness do you need, dear sir?” My gaze alit on the stone facades of his advisors but none would meet my eye.
“Do you recall the time I was lost in the wood, separated from my hunting party?”
“Of course, I was so terrified of your loss that I raced to greet you the moment I heard the hounds announce your presence.”
He rubbed his face as fresh tears sprang to his eyes. “In the woods ….” The words seem to choke him. He forced them from his throat. “I have not spoken of that day. Not to anyone. I hoped it was a dream or vision. But it is all too real.”
He took my small, delicate hands in his large rough ones. “The prey darted into the brush. I foolishly gave chase, not realizing the foliage hid a deep drop. When I woke at the bottom of the ravine, my horse was dead and I was disoriented. The moon had risen high in the night sky and I knew not which way lay home. The woods seem to taunt me. It frightened me in ways I hadn’t been since a child. The branches grabbed and pulled at my clothes and hair like hands. Roots tried to trip me. My terror rose. I stumbled across a dry creek bed and collapsed on the other side. A shadow fell across me. I peered up to behold a most unexpected sight.”
The King paused, searching for the best way to explain what he saw in the dark forest. The entire room rested on his every word. After a moment, he continued.
“The creature’s mount was a rooster—taller than my grandest knight.” A snigger broke through the stillness. A sharp glance from the King silenced the offender.
“The … man, if you could call him such, sat astride his mount and held crude reins in his hands. His nose, so long and dark, twitched as he leaned down towards me, though his features remained in shadow.”
“I tried to stand straighter, present myself as the monarch I am. I said, ‘Sir, I am lost in these great woods. I humbly request your assistance in finding my way out. You will be generously rewarded.’”
“The man remained silent so long I feared him dumb. Then he spoke with a gravelly voice, like rocks rolling along the bottom of a riverbed. ‘I do not want your gold or jewels. I only wish for the first thing you lay eyes upon when you arrive home,’ He said.”
“What’s the first thing that greets me? What loyal creatures know of my arrival before all others?”
“Your hounds.” I whispered.
“My hounds, which, though I love dearly, I would happily part with. I readily agreed to his terms. Without another word, he led me through the dark forest. We traveled for hours. The sky grew lighter and as we reached the edge of the forest, I observed his features clearly.”
My father’s face twisted in sorrow. His breath hitched
and he squeezed my hands. “The man …”
The door to the throne room burst open and Sir Thomas raced in. He dropped to one knee in front of my father. “My Lord, it has breached the outer wall. That demon cock it rides leapt the battlements with ease.”
“I am his reward,” I looked at my father. “You gave your word.”
“I tried to stop him. I told the guards to kill him on sight. I tried.” My father dropped my hands.
“You went against your word?” Devastation wracked my soul. My father was a man of values; he would never break a vow. “What is it? What do you not tell me?” I searched his face. It was too late. The stone had returned to his heart.
“Go dress for your husband.” He turned his back to me.
Those were the last words he spoke to me.
A quick bath was ordered. Agnes flitted about to and fro, braiding my hair and helping me to dress in a delicate white gown. Flowers were cut from the royal gardens and fashioned into a hasty bouquet.
I walked, a slight tremble in my step, into the courtyard. The sun blinded me and I shielded my eyes with my palm. The large form slid off its mount. A hand reached for mine. My vision adjusted and I stood face to face with my new husband.
His round face was covered in a soft down. Beady black eyes studied me above the pointed nose, capped with a black tip. From the top of his brow, down his back and ending at his waist long, thin, pointed quills protruded from his skin and lay against one another in a spiky tangle.
My husband was a hedgehog. It seemed absurd. Laughter bubbled in my throat but the horrified looks from my subjects cut my amusement. My gaze traveled downward to find he wore a smart pair of tailored trousers upon masculine legs. He appeared to be a human man from waist down.
I found my voice as well as my manners and curtsied as I said, “Good day, my Lord. I am Eloise, your reward for my father’s safe return.”
“Henry,” the gravelly voice replied. He took my extended hand and pulled me to my full height. “Come.”
I followed Henry past the large rooster, shod with a handsome saddle, to a waiting carriage adorned with flowers and ribbons. My wedding carriage. The footman opened the door and I climbed inside. Henry slapped the rooster on its haunch and sent it squawking into the forest beyond. He then joined me inside the carriage. The footman secured the door and we were on our way.
I glanced up as we left the castle walls. My father watched us leave from the very window where I once awaited his return. When my gaze caught his, he turned away.
My husband and I traveled in silence. At last, he faced me and took my hands in his. My thumbs caressed the soft, tawny hair on his wrists that stopped abruptly at his pink hands.
“I helped your father find his way,” Henry finally said.
“Pardon?”
“Your father made a promise to me. And I came to collect.” His grip tightened on my hands. Delicate nails pressed against my palms.
“You’re hurting me.” I tried to pull away but he held fast.
“Your father ordered me shot at, struck down, and stabbed.” He growled. I finally wrestled my way from his grasp.
He snatched the front of my white gown and ripped it open. I screamed for the footman to stop the coach. My clothing was torn from my body as the coach lurched to a halt. I threw the door open and stumbled out.
The footman, the coward, cracked his whip and raced the carriage back to the castle, leaving me on my own.
Forest lay on either side of the narrow trail. I tried to run, to hide my nakedness in the shadows of the trees, but felt the wind knocked out of me as I was thrown to the ground. Quills pierced my tender flesh, along my back, my arms, and my legs.
“This is the reward for your deceit!” Henry bellowed as he pricked my flesh again and again. The pain wove a tapestry of heat across my skin. The soft, pink hands grabbed me and flipped me over. Anger blazed in his black eyes. Hatred curled his lip. He roughly pushed my legs apart and pierced me one last time. A bright, white light filled my vision, blinded me more than the sun ever had.
When he had finished, he gave a shrill whistle and his rooster hopped down from its perch in a nearby tree. He leapt into his saddle and called to me.
“Go home. I do not want you.” He did not rush away or flee the scene but rode away at a slow gait while playing on a pair of bagpipes. I do not know how long I lay in the dirt, engulfed in pain, blood oozing from my wounds. At some point I staggered to my feet and headed back to the castle.
The cry went up the moment I was spotted from the outer walls. Sir Thomas dashed out with a cape and covered me. He picked me up in his arms and carried me the rest of the way to the castle.
My wounds were tended to but the damage was done. Our subjects no longer respected us. No proper suitor would come near me. My father’s health suffered. He still went out to hunt but with fewer and fewer attendants.
If not for Sir Thomas, the kingdom would have fallen into ruin. I was no longer the flighty girl I once had been. I turned to education, learned what was needed to properly rule, to achieve and maintain profitable crops and herds.
I also sent word I was looking for a witch.
The occasional coup or invasion attempt would cause temporary setbacks but with each defeat of our enemies, I grew stronger and slowly regained our subjects respect. My father became a shell of a man. He left each morning, alone now, to hunt in the forest. He never returned with any bounty. Some said he was hunting death. Most would agree.
Every night when my father returned I would be the first one out to meet him. Every night he passed me without so much as a glance in my direction.
As our coffers grew, charlatans eased from the woodworks, promising spells and enchantments but they could never give me what I needed and I sent them on their way, often with a flogging.
Word came that an old wise woman lived in the woods two kingdoms over. I sent a messenger for her but she declined my invitation. I sent Sir Thomas with a chest full of coin, but she laughed at him and slammed her shack’s door in his face. When he beseeched her to give terms, she replied if I wanted her help, I should make the journey myself.
We left in the cover of night. Sir Thomas and his trusted page lead the way. We reached the path to the witch’s shack with little trouble, but I bade them remain at the main road as I traveled on, alone.
The shadows grew long. Predators rustled leaves in the darkness yet I wasn’t afraid. The forest grew thick and wild but I forged ahead. Trees seem to band together, intertwining their branches—as if the forest itself tried to keep me from my destination. Stubbornness kept me going, kept one foot in front of the other, even as I was forced back one step for every three. I pushed through even as the twigs scratched my face and pulled my hair. With an angry cry, I shoved against a thick hedgerow and fell into a small clearing.
Moonlight broke from behind the clouds and I perceived the shack clearly. I strode to the door and my fists pounded on the brittle wood.
No answer.
I pounded harder. A shuffle sounded from within. A lock clicked, then another, and another. The door opened with a groan of the hinges and a small, shriveled woman glared at me in annoyance. “Why do you disturb a poor old woman in the middle of the night?”
“Cut the charade, Witch. You know who I am and why I come.” I stared down at her. She glared right back at me. A moment passed, neither of us budging. With a sigh, she dropped the pretention and opened the door for me to enter.
The shack was an illusion. The interior was warm, cozy, and well kept. The witch offered me a seat as she shuffled off to pour two cups of ale. She plopped into the chair opposite and offered one to me.
“The hedgehog boy. I should have known better.” She said into her cup.
“What do you know of him?”
“Twenty-five years ago, a wealthy merchant and his wife came to visit me. They had everything they might possibly want in life except a child. The merchant begged me to help his wife conceive a son.” She l
aughed but with little mirth. “He said he wouldn’t care even if it was a hedgehog as long as they had a baby.” She swirled the ale around the cup. “He got his wish.” Her eyes met mine. “Now for your story.”
I told her everything and she listened without judgment. Weighing my words, she thought a long while. When she finally spoke, she gave me the answer I had been searching for since I staggered home, droplets of my blood leaving a trail behind me.
I met Sir Thomas at the road. I didn’t answer his queries and, after a time, he stopped asking. Apart from a scuffle with bandits, the return trip was just as uneventful.
Upon our return, I resumed my duties as reigning monarch, though not officially recognized. My father continued to leave each morning to hunt and returned each night empty handed. By this time he was barely recognizable. Guilt had reduced the once virile leader to a stooped, grey old man. Every night I’d meet him at the gates and he’d ride past.
One day, Sir Thomas met me in the throne room and knelt before me. I bade him rise, and he refused. He extended his hand and offered me a small box. I opened it to find a beautiful, hand crafted ring.
“I cannot accept this.” I handed the box back but he wouldn’t take it.
“My Lady, I know I’m not worthy but it saddens me that you have no one to share your life with.”
“My heart soars with love for you, Sir Thomas.” He smiled. “But I am already married.”
His smile fell. “No one would recognize that marriage. Any priest in the land would see it annulled.”
I forced the box back into his hand. “I’m sorry.” I waved a dismissal and turned away. Out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed him hover nearby for a moment, anger and disappointment roiling beneath his usual placid features. He stormed away in a huff. I busied myself with state matters and prayed I hadn’t made the wrong decision.
One evening, my father returned from his hunt and I met his as I always did. “Good hunt, father? No? Perhaps your next hunt will be more fortuitous.” The steed halted. My father’s head turned on his neck like a creaky old gate opening for the first time in years. He looked at me as if he hadn’t seen me for years. In a way, I supposed he hadn’t. His mouth opened then snapped shut. Lips in a hard line, he gave me a curt nod. Tears welled up in his rheumy eyes.