Once Upon a Time: The Villains (5 page)

I follow them, throwing rocks and howling like a rabid wolf. Once an arrow narrowly misses my head, but I am too quick and the threat whizzes by harmlessly. The edge of town appears and the guards catch up to their mounts grazing by the miller’s house. The three are ashen-faced and frightened as they tell their tale to the wide-eyed peasant. I giggle. My tricks have been worth the risk to see them out of my home and back into the world of man.

Just as I’m about to return to the cover of the trees, a girl emerges from the mill. She curtseys, deep and graceful. Her hair shimmers golden in the sun and her skin turns rosy with embarrassment as her father pulls her closer. I confess I am enchanted.

“This be me daughter. Charity.”

“A fine beauty indeed,” one of the guards says.

“Beautiful
and
talented,” the miller insists.

The men chuckle as if they’ve heard the claim before. The head guard nods. “Very wise to acquire a talent. Beauty is known to fade.”

“Some talents do, too,” one of his comrades offers.

“Not me gal’s.” The miller pulls her even closer so they can get a better look. “She’s special.”

“And so she should be in her father’s eyes,” the other guard says, humoring the man as if he were a simpleton.

The miller grows affronted. “Not just mine. Ask anyone. She’s a rare one.”

“Father, please,” the girl begs. Even her begging is enchanting. “Let the men be away. They cannot stay here all day. They have business to attend.”

Hushed awe descends on the group. The maid is unaware how the sweet melody of her voice invites the ear, how the sun reverently kisses her skin, and how it caresses her hair until every strand sparkles like the purest gold. She is a rose amidst the ugly thorns.

The head guard bows. “Beautiful, talented, and wise.”

The three mount, but the miller is not wont to let them go without a fight. “Tell the king, if a wife he seeks for his son, me gal is the one for him.”

It is no secret the king seeks a wife for his son, but so far, none have been pretty enough or rich enough to entice an offer. I doubt he’ll ever find a dowry that satisfies his imagination. Greed recognizes itself in others, and the king’s nature is steeped in greed with a touch of madness to go along with it.

The head guard looks down with pity. “Even the prettiest peasant woman would not interest him, my friend.”

The miller takes instant offense. “H-he would not wish to bypass her talent.”

The three men cast amused glances to each other, and the head guard asks, “And what talent would bring a prince to kneel at the feet of a peasant?”

“She … uh … she spins.”

Thick laughter stirs the air. It makes the girl plead for her father to come away, but he will not. He stands resolute in the face of the soldiers’ jeers. “Imagine that, a miller’s daughter who spins wool!” a gruff guard exclaims. “The king has more spinners than he uses already.”

The miller’s face grows bright red, and his hands ball into fists. He takes a step forward. “She spins straw into gold!”

The girl pales as the head guard’s eyes fall on her. “That
is
a special talent.”

Tense silence pierces the air. The guards’ eyes boldly examine the girl from head to toe. Even the horses prick their ears forward as if to catch the full drama unfolding before them. The head guard shifts in his saddle and leans forward. His voice is low and threatening. “Tell me, old miller. Do you know the penalty for lying to the king’s guard?”

“N-nay.”

“Hanging.” He lets the word soak into the miller’s mind before he asks, “Do you still say she spins straw into gold?”

“Father, please,” the girl pleads.

But her father will not listen. “You think I lie? I do not. Me daughter has beauty and talent fit for a king.”

The three guards cast questioning looks amongst themselves. The claim is preposterous, a fabrication of a doting father, but if true, it would be an amazing find. They are not immune to the possibility. Their mad king just might be mad enough to grant them a reward. Finally, the head guard nods. “So be it.” The three whirl their mounts around and gallop away.

I don’t return to my forest. I’m curious about the miller’s claim. The thick-headed man turns a smug smile on his daughter. “Well, what say you now? There is little doubt you will soon claim the prince’s attention.”

The girl covers her face with her hands. “What have you done?” she moans. “I have no such talent, and when it is found out, both you and I will hang.”

“Nonsense,” the miller says. He puffs out his chest and smiles. “When the king’s son sees you, he will fall in love and we will be set for life.”

“I am not so beautiful as that, father.”

“Yes, you are. Wait and see.”

The pair enters the house, the father filled with boisterous pride and the daughter with trembling silence.

I grab my ears and rub. My brain has been given much to ponder. I was witness to a lie. Not just any lie, but one sure to kindle a king’s interest. A disaster in the making was what this would be. My blood begins to sing.

“Daughter, daughter you will falter.

Gold, gold, there’s none to hold.

Miller, miller, you just killed her.

Die, die, the king will cry!”

A giggle erupts. Then another and another. I’ve found what I have been looking for. Sweet revenge. I’ll make the king’s son take a poor peasant to wife, and then I’ll take everything the king thought he’d gained away from him. What better way to hurt man than to destroy his king?

“It’s perfect.”

The moon waxes and wanes. I sit on the edge of the forest like a tree stump too old to foster new growth, and I wait. Beetles crawl up my arms and onto my cheek. With a flick of my tongue, I eat, and all the while I stare at the miller’s house…waiting. I am loath to leave my bait for fear they’ll run under cover of night in an effort to escape. More stupid than I, for they stay in their mill like a pair of silly rabbits and wait for the disaster that will surely strike. And behold, strike it does. Within a fortnight, a procession emerges from the distance. The carriage is grand, the guards impressive. I perk at the sight, shaking leaf litter from my hair and new moss from my clothes.

While one guard is sent to bring forth the miller and his daughter, another steps to the carriage door and opens it. The king, in all his finery, descends. Gold encircles his neck and waist while every finger is encased in massive glittering rings. His splendor is nearly blinding. The miller lumbers out of his home and behind him follows his daughter, her head bowed, her steps slow, her demeanor just as gentle as before.

The king waves his hand for the head guard. When the man approaches, the king asks, “Is that her?”

“Aye, your majesty.” The guard pulls the girl forward with gentle insistence until she stands directly in front of the king.

The king brushes a hand against her hair and pushes it back, fingering the silkiness of it. He peers into her face and turns her about as if inspecting a prized broodmare. He hands her back to the guard. “You are right. She is beautiful.”

The miller casts a bold, calculating eye toward his daughter. “Aye, your Majesty. Me daughter is the loveliest.”

“And can she do as you claim? Can she spin straw into gold?”

The miller’s mouth stretches into a slick smile. “Who needs gold when such beauty exists?”

A heavy silence descends on the group, and the king’s eyebrows slide dangerously low. If the miller were a man of even slight intellect, he would see his fate in the hard glint of the king’s eyes. “I do.”

“Oh.” The miller shifts his feet, startled by the admission. His confidence falters.

“Your humble existence speaks of a lie, but many an enchantment is made for those who are noble and pure. Two qualities a peasant such as you could never have. But your daughter…” The king’s gaze rests on her loveliness. A sigh is heard. Then his attention snaps back to the peasant. “I ask once more. Nay, I demand to know the truth. Can she spin straw into gold?”

The miller glances at his daughter. Her eyes plead with him to tell the truth, but she does so in vain. His pride means more to him than his daughter’s life. He looks back at the king and nods. “She can.”

“Excellent.” The royal robes billow as the king turns and boards his carriage. Settling against the cushions, he commands his guard coldly, “Bring the girl to the palace.”

I’m surprised. So far, no magic is needed to bring about my plan. “It’s fate,” I whisper. I am to be vindicated at last. Oh, the fun I will have.

The girl cries out for help, but the head guard takes her and places her behind him on his horse. Dust rises as the procession takes off. Soon the excitement is over and the father is left alone, wringing his hands by the river. The mill wheel creaks and groans, slapping at the water as if in commiseration of the man’s distress.

I magically appear beside the man and whisper into his ear, “The wheel of misery has just begun.”

At the sound of my voice, he turns, but I disappear, a cackle echoing on the wind. My time has come.

Magic is a wondrous thing. The forest is filled with magical creatures man cannot see, for magic is beyond his experience and thus, to him, it does not exist except in stories to scare young children. But I know better. A few herbs here, a bit of bone and blood there; nothing is too sacred to bring about my desires. That is the way of nature. Something must die for another to live. I find what I need and leap through time and space to reach the castle before the king and his spinner. The castle grows out of the ground like a monster rising from the earth’s molten core. Jagged stone work spears the sky. The drawbridge drops open revealing iron teeth. The gilded carriage enters its gullet. I follow, a poor wretch beneath everyone’s notice, and I hide in the shadows waiting for my moment.

The prince welcomes his father. This offspring of man, the future of his people, is handsome, young and virile — everything I wish to be, but lack. He appears to be as much myth as I, for no man should be so charming and blessed. I spit on the ground, hate oozing from my pores and wait for the girl.

She enters on a charger, her golden hair flowing in the wind, her face flushed from the ride. Worry etches her countenance, yet it doesn’t detract from her beauty. If anything, she appears more comely. Her vulnerability calls to the prince’s sense of honor.

The king snaps his fingers and the guard brings the girl forward. She is confused. Lost. She looks for some sign of mercy. The king has never shown the trait. I smile; anticipation at what he’ll do tingles my spine.

The prince gazes at the girl. His face shines with admiration. Cupid’s arrow has found its mark. Love at first sight has dealt a fatal blow. “Good morrow, fairest maiden.”

The girl is just as stunned. I am more than pleased. I have given little effort in speeding my plan forward. Her terror eases as she gazes at the prince.

He takes her hand and raises it to his lips. He grazes her knuckles and her cheeks heat. A pleased smile deepens a set of disarming dimples. “Who are you?”

“Your bride,” his father says, then grunts skeptically, “…if she can do as her father claims.”

“What is that?” the prince asks, though I doubt he is listening to his mad father. The beauty of the maid fills his princely vision.

She shakes her head, panic jumping from her eyes.

The king waves his steward forward. “To bring us untold wealth as is befitting our station.” He orders the servant to fill a room to the ceiling with bundles of straw, “…and place a spinning wheel in the center.”

The prince frowns at his father’s odd request and asks the girl. “What is this about?”

She shakes her head. “I-I—”

The king takes the girl by the elbow and shoves her toward the head guard, separating her from his son. “I would not attach myself too soon. By morning, not one strand of straw shall be left untouched, and I expect a room full of gold. If not, hang her from the castle gate as a lesson; no commoner shall dare bear false testimony to their king.”

Shock wipes the disbelief off the prince’s face. “You can’t be serious, Father. What you demand of her is an impossible task.”

“We shall soon find out.”

Terrified, words fail the maid as she is wrenched from the prince’s presence and taken into the castle.

“What you ask is madness.” The princely heart is already breaking. “If her father promised the deed, hold him accountable. I beg you, let her go.”

The king faces his son. “Why spend a moment of worry on her? Though beautiful, she is but a lowly peasant.” He steers his son toward the entrance to the keep. “Yet, if by some miracle she spins a room full of gold, there will be nothing we cannot attain.”

The prince grows angry. “The price is too high.”

Smug satisfaction settles on the king’s face. “You say so now, but you will thank me one day. One way or another, our family will rule this land forever.” He forces his son into the keep, ignoring the prince’s pleas for the girl’s life.

How noble of the prince, and how greedy the king. The first virtue I don’t understand, and the second I detest in everyone but me. Little does the king know. He need not worry his fortunes will suffer. I will give him what he so desires. As I melt further into the shadows, I vow, “You will curse the day you took the maid into your home.”

I wait until nightfall and slip into the castle. Stealth has carried me through life and it continues to serve me now. When the guards’ backs turn, I steal into the room where straw peeks from under the door.

A musty smell fills the room. Bale upon yellow bale climbs to the ceiling. A small path weaves through the room to the center where the maid sits on a stool, her head bend. She weeps; she wrings her hands. Her despair is my joy. At my approach, she looks up. Huge tears course down her cheeks in rivulets of misery, yet her beauty stays true. Such rosy perfection even affects me, but I have a mission, and I use her distress to get closer.

“Good evening, sweet maiden. What tragedy makes you weep?”

Her fingers clutch at a golden ring she wears. Does she believe if she twists the tiny circle enough, her problem will be solved? What simple faith. She looks away, her gaze encompassing the impossible task the king has set before her. “More tragedy than I can bear, for I am to spin this straw into gold or tomorrow I shall surely die.”