Beauty

  ‘I thought I’d find you here.’

  Petra jumped slightly at the soft voice and turned. ‘Sorry, granny. I just . . .’

  ‘I know,’ her grandmother said. ‘You just wandered here by accident.’ She was a short, stout woman whose face was rosy with both good humour and good nature. Here and there a grey curl sprung out from under her cap. Petra loved her very, very much. ‘The forest can be like that with places and people. When your mother, may she rest in peace, was little she was always up at the emerald pond. She’d stare into it for hours, hoping to see a water witch or some such foolishness.’ She smiled and Petra smiled back, picking up her basket and turning her back on the lush vegetation that grew so unnaturally and fascinated her. She’d heard her mother’s story many times before but she never tired of it and she knew it cheered her grandmother, although by nature a happy soul, to talk about her.

  ‘I’ve put some soup on for lunch,’ her granny said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  They chatted about their mornings as they walked, the route second nature to them both even though the tiny paths that cut through the dense woodland would barely be noticeable to a stranger. The stream somewhere to their left finally joined them, babbling into their conversation as they walked alongside the flowing water, and finally came to the clearing where granny’s cottage sat. Smoke rose from the chimney and flowers were starting to bloom in the borders that ran in front of the small house. It should have been a beautiful sight but today, as had happened on too many days recently, it was marred by a bloody trail of innards that emerged from behind the house and vanished at the edge of the forest.

  ‘Oh, not again!’ Granny gasped and the two women, age being no impediment to panic, ran to the small enclosure behind the cottage where granny kept her precious goats. It was as Petra feared. The gate had been broken through yet again. From somewhere deep in the trees a low howl of victory drifted towards them. It had none of the plaintive texture of the sound that drew Petra to the mysterious forest wall; this was all animal, fierce and hungry.

  ‘Bloody wolves,’ her granny swore. ‘Bloody bastard wolves.’

  ‘I’ll mend it again,’ she said, quietly. ‘Make it stronger.’

  Her grandmother was moving through the rest of the scared goats who had huddled at the far corner of the pen. ‘Adolpho. It’s taken Adolpho.’

  Petra had never tried to persuade her grandmother to move to one of the houses in the village as she grew older – she knew how much the old lady loved the peace and quiet of the forest – but recently she’d started to think it might be a good idea. It had been a hard winter and the wolves, normally a rarity in this part of the forest, had arrived as a hungry pack and, when the weather broke, they’d stayed. Where foxes were a menace they’d learned to deal with, the winter wolves were braver and stronger. Men in the village talked of cattle lost in the night to the wolves working in twos and threes, and although they had tried to hunt them, the pack was elusive.

  ‘Go inside, Granny,’ Petra said, knowing that the old woman would want a quiet moment to mourn the loss of the animal. ‘I’ll clean up out here.’ The wolves would be back, that she knew for certain, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before they saw the stout old woman as an easy meal. Especially if they couldn’t get to the goats. She needed a fence as high as that wall of greenery around her granny’s cottage. She needed to protect her. The wolf’s gruff howl was joined by another and she was sure they were mocking her. She cursed them silently, then went to the shed and pulled out more planks of wood and rolls of wire. She would not give up. The wolves would not win. Her hair fell into her eyes as she worked, angrily focused on her task and wishing that the wolf from far away would come and scare these rough relatives away for her. At least then her fingers wouldn’t be full of splinters and her skin slick with sweat.

  She was halfway through the job when there was a crash from inside the cottage, a scream, and the sound of plates being dropped.

  ‘Granny!’ Her heart in her mouth, she turned and ran.

  They had been travelling through the forest for several days before the two men eased into a comfortable silence. The first day, once out of sight of the fanfare and grand send-off the king had arranged for his son, had been a relatively slow one given the prince’s hangover. The huntsman’s own head was clear having been on the outskirts of the group for the night, gritting his teeth every time the prince introduced him to some new dandy as his servant. Huntsmen served no one but nature. He’d drunk one or two cups of beer but the group of rowdy young men hadn’t impressed him and neither had they particularly encouraged him to join them, which suited him just fine. He was glad when dawn broke and he could wake the prince and prepare to get out of the city. He’d had enough. He wanted their ‘adventure’ over so he could return to his people, and at least in the forest he would feel that he was almost home.

  By the time they’d made camp, the fresh air had revived the prince’s spirits enough for him to make a fire while the huntsman fetched water and killed a rabbit for their dinner. At first the prince had been determined to prove his superiority by trying to impress the huntsman with tales of castle living, but after a while he’d become curious about his companion’s way of life. The huntsman answered his questions as best he could as he skinned and cooked the animal, and it was clear that the prince, away from the peer pressure of his cohort, was begrudgingly beginning to admire his companion. The huntsman relaxed his own judgement on the royal in return.

  The next few days passed well and they even laughed together occasionally at some joke or story one or other would tell. They might not have been a natural pairing for a friendship, but it wasn’t the prince’s fault that the king had dragged the huntsman from his home and rested this burden – and the fate of his village – on his shoulders. He would make the best of it and perhaps they would both come out of the experience better and wiser men.

  After ten days of travelling the Far Mountain had grown taller in the skyline and the forest thicker; green and lush and rich with life. The light scent of spring in the air became tinged with something heavier, and when they finally found a large pond to drink from the water was bitter and they had to spit it out. The prince declared it was magic they could taste and shuddered slightly, afraid. The huntsman pointed out that magic was simply nature in another guise and nothing to be either feared or courted, but before they could get into an argument about it he saw chimney smoke drifting up from behind some trees to their right.

  ‘They’ll know where there’s good water,’ the huntsman said.

  ‘Isn’t it your job to find it?’ the prince shot back.

  The huntsman ignored him and found an almost invisible path through the trees that led to a small clearing at the heart of which sat a cottage surrounded by pretty flowers . . . and by the faintest blood-stained trail through the grass that none other than an animal or a huntsman would be likely to spot. He frowned slightly; there had been trouble here. He paused and looked up. The door was open and from inside came the crashing of plates and a short scream. He gripped the hilt of his knife and ran forward.

  ‘Granny!’ A girl’s shout came from somewhere behind the cottage but the huntsman and the prince didn’t pause. They ran straight inside.

  A low growl came from beyond the cosy main room and the two men knocked over a side table as they followed it, the prince with his sword drawn and the huntsman with his knife.

  A large grey wolf, teeth bared, was scrabbling and scratching at a tall cupboard door in the corner. It suddenly jerked open an inch and a broom handle poked out sharply and jabbed at the beast. ‘Shoo! Shoo!’

  The prince, clearly nervous, was waving his sword so high in the small room that the huntsman had to duck to avoid losing an ear.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing with that thing,’ he muttered, as the wolf turned to face them. It snarled, ready to pounce. Faced with the full sight of its bloody mouth and sharp teeth, the prince paled. ‘Perhaps we should r
un.’

  ‘We can’t outrun it,’ the huntsman said, his voice low. The wolf growled again, and the prince trembled slightly, grabbing at the huntsman’s arm and tugging him backwards – and off balance – ruining any chance he had of defending them.

  Sensing their fear, the wolf leapt, across the table at them, all raging heat and hunger. The huntsman shoved the clinging prince away, sending him flying into a dresser and breaking more crockery, but as the beast loomed over him his own balance was gone and he cursed under his breath, preparing to feel the sharp thick claws and heavy teeth tearing into his skin.

  An arrow whistled past him, straight and true, and struck firmly lodging several inches deep in the wolf’s chest. All momentum suddenly lost, it mewled and dropped, crashing onto the table. It shuddered for a second and then was gone. As the prince got to his feet, the huntsman stared at the dead beast, and then turned to look behind him at the girl holding the bow.

  ‘You can come out now, Granny,’ she said, softly. ‘It’s dead.’

  The girl stared at the wolf with a mixture of loathing and sadness and then turned her eyes to the men; one dressed in the finest clothes with royal insignia on his red cloak and sword, and the other in the rough green fabrics and tan leathers of a working huntsman.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘We heard the scream,’ the huntsman said. ‘And came to help. But it seems you had it all under control.’

  ‘We were hoping you could direct us to the nearest stream,’ the prince said, as if he hadn’t been trembling in fear only seconds before and there was no dead wolf bleeding over the kitchen table. ‘We’ve been travelling for days and this part of the forest is strange to us. We found a pond, but the water was undrinkable. And then we heard the crash and saw the door was open, and came inside.’

  ‘Oh, they say that pond’s cursed. But that can wait until we’ve had our somewhat late lunch. The wolves have ruined our day.’

  A small, stout woman with a cheerful face lent character by a life in the forest, stepped out of the cupboard, put the broom she was holding away, and then smiled at them. ‘You will be staying for some food, I presume? The stew’s nearly done and there’s plenty to go round.’

  The girl sighed and put her hands on her hips. ‘We don’t know them, granny. They could be anyone.’

  Her grandmother peered over her glasses and looked the men up and down.

  ‘Everyone’s someone, Petra dear, and that one has the manners of royalty about him, and the other looks like a huntsman to me. You can always trust a huntsman, that’s what my mother told me. Now, come on, having visitors will be nice.’ She smiled warmly. ‘I’m always curious when strangers from distant places turn up at my door, and so should you be.’

  ‘They can help me clear up first then.’ The girl didn’t look as convinced as her grandmother.

  ‘We’ll be more than happy to help,’ the prince said, and gave the girl a curt bow. She didn’t look too impressed, but instead grabbed the wolf’s forelegs. ‘Then one of you give me a hand getting this outside.’

  As Petra and her granny cleaned the cottage, the huntsman and the prince worked hard to make the goat pen secure. When they were done, the huntsman smeared the wolf’s blood on all the posts until they looked almost painted red. The goats shuffled nervously inside.

  ‘It’ll help keep the wolves away,’ he said, as Petra came and inspected their work. ‘And better the goats are nervous than dead.’ She didn’t disagree, and he saw a little of the tension escaping her shoulders. They might not be friends yet, but perhaps they were no longer irritating strangers.

  The cottage was warm and cosy and it was good to spend a night inside. Petra fetched them some wine and there was bread and stew enough for them all to be full and have some left over. The huntsman was pleased when he saw the young prince leave a few gold coins on the dresser when he thought no one was looking. By the time they’d eaten night had fallen and they sat gathered round the comforting warmth and light of the large fire in the grate.

  ‘So,’ Granny said, her knitting needles clicking together and her chair rocking slightly under her. ‘What brings you to this corner of the kingdoms?’

  ‘We’re in search of a legend,’ the prince said. ‘My father has sent me to find a lost castle, vanished for nearly a hundred years. Apparently it’s hidden behind a forest wall of some kind—’

  ‘A wall of forest?’ Petra sat upright in her chair. ‘I know where—’

  ‘Shhh dear,’ her granny patted her knee. ‘All in good time.’

  It was the most animated the girl had been since their arrival, and that intrigued the huntsman. Unlike the city girls she seemed unimpressed by the handsome prince, and he liked her all the more for that.

  ‘Why does your father send you to find it?’ the old lady asked.

  ‘He thinks all young men should have an adventure,’ the huntsman cut in, before the prince could muddy the waters of their travel with talk of outposts and amassing land.

  ‘And that’s a good enough reason,’ Granny said and she smiled, nodded and put down her knitting.

  ‘Have you heard of this place?’ the prince asked.

  ‘Oh yes.’ Granny’s eyes twinkled. ‘My mother would speak of it sometimes. Mainly when she was older than I am now, and her mind was not always as it should have been. It sounded a strange place, from her tales. But then most cities are strange and, to be fair, she was always full of fancy stories which no one knew the truth of.’

  ‘I go to the wall,’ Petra said suddenly. Her face was flushed and alive. ‘Sometimes I hear a sound from the other side. A lonely, echoing cry. It haunts me.’

  ‘I think it’s more than that, dear,’ her grandmother’s eyes twinkled fondly as she looked at her. ‘You should go with them.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Petra said, holding her granny’s arm. ‘I’ll stay here with you. I need to keep you safe.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear. It’s not just men who need adventures, you know. Everyone has their own destiny to find. And if there’s something over that wall that’s calling to you, you have to find it. That’s the way of things.’

  ‘No,’ Petra said, although it was clear in her eyes that she was desperate to go. ‘There are still too many wolves in the forest. If the pen holds and they can’t get to the goats, what if they come for you again? Like today?’

  The huntsman looked thoughtfully at the two women and then left them by the fire with the prince and went outside. He dragged the wolf’s body into the forest to work on it and then took the result to the pond to wash it clean, relying on his forest instincts to lead him where he needed to go. By the time he was done he was sweating but pleased.

  ‘Here,’ he said, and held up his completed work. ‘This will keep them away. They’ll smell one of their own instead of you.’

  ‘What is that?’ Petra asked.

  ‘A wolf wrap,’ the huntsman said. He helped the old lady put the wolf’s skin on, and then wrapped her own blanket round her shoulders and placed her cap back on top.

  ‘It’s lovely and cosy,’ she said from somewhere under the wolf’s snout. Her hands, under the wolf’s claws, looked strange as she continued her knitting.

  ‘You look so peculiar,’ Petra giggled. ‘Like a wolf has dressed up in your clothes!’ They all laughed aloud as the old lady rocked her chair backwards and forwards. ‘Well, I quite like it,’ she said. ‘I can save on wood for the fire if I have this keeping me toasty. And you,’ she turned to her grand-daughter and lifted her head so her own face was visible beneath the wolf’s, ‘Can now go on your adventure.’

  And so it was decided. They would leave their horses in Granny’s care and Petra would join them.

  The next morning they ate a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon and forest mushrooms, and Petra’s granny packed some bread and cheese for them which she loaded up in the huntsman’s knapsack, before fixing Petra’s red cloak over her shoulders. She smiled and her eyes twinkled but the girl looked a
s if she was about to burst into tears.

  ‘I love you, Granny,’ she said.

  ‘I love you too, Petra.’ She squeezed the girl tight. ‘But your life is out there, not here with me. And I shall be just fine.’

  She waved them off from the doorway, and then the girl led them towards the forest wall and whatever lay beyond it.

  3

  ‘Once upon a time . . .’

  Once upon a time a young king was out hunting in the forest that lay at the edge of his city. He had not long come to the throne, but he was a good man and was mourning the loss of his father rather than relishing his new power and preferred to hunt alone as it gave him some private time away from the rigours of court life and kingship.

  It was a warm day and, with his enthusiasm to chase and kill a living creature dampened by his recent loss, he dismounted and walked his horse to a large pond of sparkling blue water that was so cold and deep that it must have been home to a natural spring beneath its bed.

  The young king sat by the pool as his mount drank and stared into the surface of the water, lost in his own thoughts. Now it is said that deep in the heart of the pond that rarest of creatures, a water witch, sensed the young king’s distress and looked up. She saw his handsome face, so weighed down with grief and responsibility, and it touched something inside her. She immediately came to the surface, unable to stop herself.