Hunt- Red Riding Hood Retold

by Demelza Carlton

  Sir Chase choked on his ale. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, "Aye, I heard the same. Until I met the woman. Beautiful as the day is long, but cold as ice. Looking into her eyes is enough to freeze your soul, and no mistake."

  He had a peculiar vision of Queen Margareta facing down a fire breathing dragon. It would be an even match, Chase thought.

  Now, if it was that princess daughter of hers…the dragon would be doomed. But princesses did not fight dragons. Pity. He'd pay money to see a girl fight. Like Maja had wanted to, but their father had forbidden it. He'd like to see anyone try to refuse the princess of Aros, if she wanted to take up a sword.

  "Then I'll be sure to avoid her," George said.

  That wouldn't be hard. The boy wouldn't be invited to a feast where he might meet the princess.

  "Wise choice." Chase raised his ale. "And I will avoid your dragon. I heard about a pack of troublesome wolves in the north. I might go see to those instead."

  George clunked his cup against Chase's. "To both our good health, and long lives," he said gravely, and drank.

  Without the interference of women, Chase added silently as he downed his ale. Women and wolves didn't mix, so he'd be safe in the north.

  Nine

  "Now, will you be all right brewing all that up by yourself?" Grandmother asked, surveying the jars of honey that covered the table.

  Rosa didn't spare the table a glance. "Of course. I'd sooner brew ten times this much than go into town again after yesterday."

  Grandmother shook her head. "The townspeople will never show you the respect you deserve unless you believe you deserve it. You are their witch, soon to be their priestess, far more important than the Baron and his line, for our family has been here for centuries. You must wear your magic boldly, with pride, much like your red cloak. But today, save your magic for your brewing, for that is how the best mead is made."

  Rosa bowed her head. "Yes, Grandmother." There was no point in arguing – Grandmother had earned the respect of the villagers and the Baron, but Rosa knew she could never ignore the taunts when her own head told her they were right.

  She might not have murdered her own family, but their blood lay on her hands. If she'd been home, her magic might have saved them, as it had saved herself.

  But she'd arrived too late.

  Grandmother's eyes brimmed with sympathy. "You dwell too much on the past and what cannot be changed, Rosa. Look up, to the future, for that is where hope lies."

  Not until the wolf was dead, she thought but did not say. Instead, she managed a smile. "My future is all about boiling and brewing, until all the barrels are full of mead. Which I hope will taste as good as the last batch."

  Grandmother returned her smile. "Better, I'm sure. You've learned so much since last winter, the village will have no need of me any more." She swept her cloak around herself and strode out before Rosa could respond.

  For a moment, Rosa was a lost little girl again, all alone with barely a breath of magic to call upon, before she took a deep breath and reminded herself that girl had grown up. Stronger, more powerful. Powerful enough to seek vengeance when the wolf returned, she hoped.

  And strong enough to brew an ocean of medicinal mead alone.

  She stoked the fire, filled the cauldron from the well, and set it on the fire to boil. Then she headed outside and lit the firepits, which would be blazing hot enough to heat the other cauldrons once she'd filled them.

  Her day consisted of wood, water and watching for bubbles, stirring in the honey, setting the mixture aside to cool, before sealing it up in barrels to ferment for a few weeks.

  Then she could use her magic to lift the barrels up to the loft, where the warmth from the winter fire would help the brew mature.

  Darkness had fallen by the time she'd stopped stoking the fires, but she couldn't leave the cauldrons out in night's chill and let ice ruin her hard work. She filled the last few barrels and sent them soaring inside with their fellows.

  Only then did she allow herself to head back into the house to rest. Too exhausted to cook, she swallowed a few bites of bread and cheese.

  Rosa's arms ached as she brought in wood to feed the fire for the night, but her day's work would go to waste if she let the fire go out. Not to mention Grandmother would admonish her for such laziness when she returned in the morning, for surely Grandmother had accepted the Baron's hospitality for the night instead of walking home so late in the dark.

  So Rosa toppled into bed and fell asleep almost instantly, without a worry in the world.

  Ten

  Morning held an unfamiliar chill, forcing Rosa to reach for a shawl to wrap around her shoulders as she rekindled the fire from the coals. A cup of willow bark tea would see off the aches from yesterday's labour, before today's began.

  Seeing as she'd left yesterday's milk in the cellar and forgotten about it, after today's milking, she might have enough to make cheese. She left a pot of water over the fire to boil, then headed outside to the barn where the goats slept.

  Snow had turned their fertile, dark soil white. Rosa cursed, then summoned a whirlwind to whisk it away from Grandmother's garden. The spells Grandmother had cast on the clearing usually kept all but that hardiest frost away – she had an arrangement with the surrounding trees, or so she'd said – but perhaps even trees could not keep a snowstorm out completely.

  No wonder Grandmother had stayed the night with the Baron. Walking through snow was…to return to trudging through despair, that winter Rosa had lost her family to the wolf. The coldest winter in living memory, or so everyone had said. She hadn't felt the cold, for she'd been too wrapped up in her grief. But now…snow sent a chill through her heart that had nothing to do with grief.

  This year, her family would have justice. And snow would not touch her or hers again. Rosa bit her lip, strengthening the spell that swirled the snow away from her home so that it would not stop until the storm was over.

  Better than dwelling on the evidence that Grandmother's magic was weakening.

  A faint sound reached her ears, and Rosa sent a gust of wind to tell her more. The sound grew louder, until she could discern the crunch of wheels on the snow dusted road, accompanied by the low voices of the men who drove the wagon.

  Milking and cheesemaking would have to wait. Rosa had time to comb her hair and straighten her cloak before the wagon trundled into view, accompanied by three guards and Alard.

  Despite the freezing wind, all four of them removed their hats and held them to their chests.

  Rosa's heart sank.

  "Alard, what's happened?" she demanded, looking from him to the wagon and back again. Casks stood on either side of a covered lump that ran the length of the wagon. "What's all this?"

  "Ah…this is my father's gift to you. And your grandmother. As thanks for all that you do for the village. All supplies from our cellar to help you through the winter. You'll need it, now that…"

  "What, Alard?" Rosa couldn't keep the bite of impatience out of her tone.

  One of Alard's men twitched the cloth aside. Beneath it was Grandmother's green cloak, ending in a pair of brand new boots.

  "No!" Rosa doubled over. Not Grandmother. The only family she had left. "What happened?" she demanded.

  "My father asked her to stay last night, but she refused. She insisted on walking home. One of the woodcutters found her this morning, lying in the snow on the road at the edge of the forest. Some cowardly creature had attacked her…"

  Dread curled in Rosa's belly. There was only one creature it could have been.

  Rosa reached for her grandmother's cloak, exposing the old woman's throat. Or what would have been her throat, if the wolf hadn't ripped it out.

  "My father wanted to bury her in the churchyard, where our family lie, but I knew she wouldn't have wanted that. That you would want…" Alard couldn't seem to finish.

  "Yes. She would want to be buried in the woods, where she lived," Rosa lied. Alard and all the Baron's fa
mily worshipped the new religion, the one with the dying deity, instead of the multiple gods she knew lived in this part of the world. The gods her grandmother had prayed to and sacrificed to every day of her life. Grandmother would be accorded a funeral appropriate for a High Priestess who'd served the forest gods – her body would be burned on their altar, and her ashes scattered to strengthen the forest.

  "My father has sent men out to hunt the creature, before it kills anyone else," Alard said. "You need not fear. I will bring you its head myself."

  Rosa shook her head. "It's the wolf. The same one who killed my family. It came for her. Your hunters will not find it. It's too clever for that. When it comes, it will come for me. And I will be ready for it, this time. I will bring you its head. I'll carry it through the streets and maybe then, people will finally believe that it was a wolf, not me, who killed my family."

  Alard looked alarmed. "We do believe you! No one thinks such a terrible thing. But now that your grandmother is gone, perhaps you should consider moving to the village. I would be happy to offer you the hospitality of the Great House…" His eyes shone with eagerness.

  "And who will placate the gods of the forest, with Grandmother gone? No, Alard, I will not move to town. I will stay here, where I belong." She eyed the wagon. "The supplies you brought should see me through the winter."

  "But what then? I know your grandmother was a powerful witch, but you…" Oh, so earnest. Even when he insulted her.

  Rosa bit down hard, tasting blood. "I am my grandmother's successor, and anyone who thinks my power is any less than hers is welcome to test it." She sent a gust of wind across the clearing, lifting Grandmother's cape from her body and making it dance as though her spirit animated the cloth, ten feet up in the air. The cloak reached the space between the firepits, and Rosa felt the faint warm air current stirring from the not-quite-dead coals. She sent the breeze swirling through the coals, four gouts of flame that climbed higher than her house. "But not before I have sought justice for my family." She swallowed. "And Grandmother." Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. She would not cry in front of these men.

  "Rosa…"

  She ignored Alard. "You may store the supplies in the cellar. I'm sure if I must take up my grandmother's healing duties on top of my own, I won't have time to do it. But if your families have need of healing throughout the winter, be assured your kindness will be remembered."

  Alard's men nodded and set about unloading the wagon.

  Rosa let the air lift Grandmother's body, carrying it to where her cloak lay spread out on the ground, between the firepits. She gently laid the body down, like a queen lying in state. For to the forest, Grandmother had been the queen of the trees.

  A power Rosa did not share, though they'd both been able to practice a small amount of healing. Rosa would have to work harder on the herb garden now, without Grandmother's magic to make it flourish.

  The men carried casks, jars and sacks into the house. Rosa took stock of it all, stashing the information into a corner of her mind for later, when she could think about such things.

  "There's space in the wagon for your things. Please come back to the village, so we can keep you safe. Just for the winter, until the wolf is caught," Alard wheedled.

  "My place is here," Rosa said, planting her feet. She looked the Baron's son in the eye. "That wolf will die by winter's end, Alard."

  He nodded once. "Yes, it will."

  Eleven

  The town looked no different to any of the others Chase had travelled through to get here. The only difference was the depth of the snow, which had fallen steadily until even his mare struggled through the drifts. What passed for a Great House here – the seat of the local baron, he'd been told – looked like one of the bigger outbuildings on Abraham's estate. A stone barn, not a castle.

  But he didn't have the time or funds to be choosy. Winter was well and truly here, and his need for shelter at night had forced him to sell his armour, piece by piece, until nothing remained. If this town wasn't the one beset by wolves, he might have to sell his horse to make it through the winter.

  No, fate would not be so cruel. She might not want him to live comfortably in the service of the royal court of Aros, but fate could not be such a bitch that she wanted him to die in a ditch halfway to nowhere. But fate was a woman, and a traitorous one at that. He wanted nothing to do with women when his business was with wolves.

  He headed for the Great House, leading his exhausted mare.

  "You're not from around here."

  The voice came out of nowhere, until the owner appeared from behind what Chase had thought was a snowdrift. Now, he saw it was a half-buried building. A woodshed, judging by the pile of wood in the man's arms.

  Chase stopped. "No, I'm not. My name is Sir Chase, and I heard your town had a wolf problem. I've come to take care of it." He hoped, he thought but didn't say.

  Logs tumbled from the man's arms into the snow. "Master Alard will be pleased to hear it." He headed for the house, and opened the door. "Boy, fetch Master Alard! A knight has come to slay the wolf!"

  Chase heard the sound of running feet before the man closed the door again.

  The man stuck out his hand. "I'm Wido. My family have served the Baron's for generations. But we've never had a wolf this bad. First six years ago, in that cold winter, and we thought it'd gone, but it's back, and more murderous than ever. Last time it murdered a whole family in their house as they slept!"

  Chase's heart sank. That didn't sound like a wolf at all. What had he gotten himself into?

  But it was too late now. He had no money left. If he did not take this job, he would starve before spring.

  "Sir Knight, our saviour!" A well-dressed man of about Chase's own age appeared, his arms held wide as if he intended to embrace him. He did, kissing Chase on both cheeks. "I'm Alard. I thought we wouldn't see anyone else until the spring, though I sent riders out in every direction. Angels must have sent you!"

  "An innkeeper on the road between Aros and Kasmirus, actually," Chase said.

  Alard's eyes widened. "And you chose to help us instead of slaying the dragon? We are blessed indeed!"

  The admiration in the man's eyes made Chase feel uncomfortable. "Hold your praise until the job is done, Baron Alard."

  Alard shook his head. "My father is the Baron. I'm just Alard, for as long as my father lives. Which I hope will be a long time."

  Chase could detect no lie in the man's fierce words. Perhaps Alard truly was a loving son, who had no desire to rule his father's lands. "I'm Sir Chase."

  Alard's eyes shone. "Well met, Sir Chase. Tell me what you need to end this plague, and it shall be yours."

  "Plague? I thought your problem was a wolf!" A wolf was one thing, but the plague was enough to send him galloping as far and fast as his mare could take him, winter snows be damned.

  "The wolf that plagues us, yes. God forbid any other misfortunes befall us this winter!"

  Chase breathed out a sigh of relief. "I heard there was a bag of gold on offer as reward for anyone who slays the beast."

  Alard nodded. "Yes, that is so."

  Chase took a deep breath. "I must ask for more than that. Board and lodging until spring, which are mine no matter how long it takes me to exterminate your wolf. Whether it takes me a week or the rest of the winter. I have travelled far, and – "

  "Of course! You shall have a bed in my father's house, and a seat at his table for as long as you like. Rid us of this wolf, and my father may never want you to leave!" Alard clapped his hands. "You there – take Sir Chase's horse and see it is well cared for. Have his things brought to the house."

  A man took the reins from Chase and led the mare to the stables.

  "Now, join me for dinner. We'll broach a barrel of my father's best wine, and you can tell us tales of other monsters you have slain!" Alard said, gesturing for Chase to follow him.

  No matter what the man had done, Abraham was no monster, and Chase had not slain him.
"Better that you tell me more about this wolf. Now I am here, I am eager to start. Perhaps even on the morrow."

  Alard nodded agreeably. "Of course, of course! You are a true hero, Sir Chase, to be so intent on your quest! I shall tell you everything I know."

  And as the words spilled out of the Baron's son, Chase began to have an inkling of a plan. Wolves were crafty beasts, and one who sneaked into a house to kill people as they slept was craftier still. Waiting for it to appear and maybe kill again would never do. But if he could lure it into a trap, where he lay in wait with his bow, he might be able to accomplish this after all.

  Twelve

  Rosa could delay no longer. The ashes from her grandmother's pyre were cold on the stone altar in the forest, and she had made more cheese than she could eat in a year. The mead would not finish fermenting for some days yet, and Alard's hunters had followed the wolf's trail to a clearing in the forest, before they'd lost it.

  Treating the hunters' coughs and chills from sleeping in the snow had given her all the information she needed to head out on her own hunt, along with the certainty that no one else would be out in the forest, risking his neck against the beast. The Baron's hunters didn't dare cross the witch who was now the town's only healer, who'd ordered them to rest inside for a week.

  She'd sacrificed four elderly hens to use as bait, or she intended to – the old broilers were still alive, stuffed in the sack over her shoulder. Fresh blood mattered to predators, and surely this wolf was no different.

  She found the clearing easily enough, though there were no wolf prints to be seen with the fresh dusting of snow the ground had received since the hunters had last been here. But it mattered not. She had no intention of tracking the beast to its lair. Instead, she intended to lure it out with the smell of fresh meat.

  Rosa moved to the middle of the clearing to slaughter the chickens. Her experienced hands made quick work of the killing part, but she took her time gutting the carcasses, throwing entrails across the snow to spread the blood further.