Once Upon a Time: The Villains (6 page)

I draw nearer. “What will you give me if I spin it for you?”

Disbelief makes her blink. She stops twirling the ring on her finger, and then looks at it. With a ragged, desperate breath, she tugs the ring from her finger. It is crudely worked, but of great value in her eyes.

“This was my father’s gift to me.” She touches my hand. There is no wince of disgust when she does. She looks at me with hope and places the ring in my palm. “He spent all he had, and it is all I have.”

I take the ring and slip it on my pinkie. A gift is something I have never been given. Her eyes swallow me. To her, I am all that is noble. She looks at me as she did the prince, and I sit, tucking my twisted form against the wheel.

I take out a pinch of magic. Motioning her close, I grab her hand and bite her finger. She cries out and tries to jerk away, but I hold fast. Hot, red blood oozes to the surface, and I collect a droplet. Mixing magic and blood, I rub it onto the spindle.

Magic and blood;

the wheel is begun,

rough straw is fed;

golden thread is spun.

As I spin, the maid feeds me the straw. By the blush of first morning light, the last speck of straw is spun into gold. Coils of gold rope fill the room. The maid turns to me and grants me a kiss on the cheek. Her eyes flash with delight at the miracle I have brought. I cup my cheek where the kiss still tingles, I know not whether to treasure it or rub it away. While the maid inspects the gold, I slip out of the room.

So much gold will surely captivate the king’s attention. He won’t believe his eyes. He will not be satisfied, and he will demand another sampling of the magic. I know because that is what I would do. The maid will be called to perform again and another kiss may well be in my future.

Sure enough, the beauty is taken to another, larger straw-filled room and commanded to spin.

Again, I enter when the night is thick and quiet. At my approach, she twirls around. Her fingers clamped in a prayerful request to ward off any danger. Her prayers did not work, for I am here.

She bursts into tears. “I was so afraid you would not come. The first room was not enough. He demands I spin again.”

“A greedy man is our king. Tell me, fair maiden, what will I get for assisting you again?”

Horror fills her eyes until she remembers. Her fingers unbutton her blouse until a little silver locket appears against her pale flesh. She pulls it off, and holds the necklace out to me. “It is all I have. Will you take it?”

“Is that not what you said of the ring?” I ask as I take it and pop the latch. A lock of reddish gold hair lay within.

“The ring has some worth. This has none except that which I give it. The locket is all I have left of my dead mother.”

A precious gift. A true sacrifice. I pocket the necklace and sit before the spinning wheel. I motion her forward and grab her hand. I bite. She winces. Blood is let and magic is added.

Magic and blood;

the wheel is begun,

rough straw is fed;

golden thread is spun.

Gold, lustrous and bright, drops heavy at our feet. As morning pushes against the shutters covering the windows, I leave. My plan is almost too easy. Soon I will have what the king most desires.

Again the king is astounded, but this time he fills his largest room, the ballroom, full of straw. I hide behind a mountainous pile and wait for them to leave the maid alone.

The prince protests against the larger test. “This must stop, Father. We have more gold than we need already. She has done as you asked. She’s proven her worth. Set her free.”

Gold glitters in the king’s eyes, and it covers his heart. He smacks his lips with anticipation of the wealth he will gain. He takes up the hands of the maiden and says, “Spin this straw into gold, and tomorrow you shall be queen.”

I smile. I can see the king’s mind. No longer is he content to give his son the power. He wants it all for himself. He has found his golden goose and he will keep her close by, satisfying his greed until the day she dies.

“Queen?” the prince gasps as he looks from his father to the maid he loves.

Her eyes fill with tears. They beg the handsome prince to rescue her, but the prince can only follow his father out and leave her to her labor.

Oh the joy of a plan that weaves itself. A king in lust with gold, a prince in love with a maid, and a maid balancing on one point of the triangle. One slip in either direction and disaster will strike. I saunter into the center of the room and find the maid on the floor, her body draped across the stool. Her anguish pours onto the floor in the shape of large, salty tears.

This time, she does not move. She does not notice me, nor give me welcome. I draw closer. Bending, I speak in a soft, cajoling whisper, “Is aught well? Is the king displeased with our gold?”

The maid sniffles and shakes her head. “Nay. He is well pleased.
Very
well pleased.”

“I see he wishes another miracle.”

“I will give him none.”

I rear back. What is this? A maid who will not play my game? How dare she! “Then you choose death?”

“I have no choice. Do you think me pleased to see my freedom is but a night away only to realize I have nothing left to give you?”

“No precious gift in exchange for my labor? I see.” I can barely hold back my glee, for she has something very dear indeed. “What of your first born child?”

She lifts her head and stares at me. “My child? But I am a maiden true.”

“I speak of that wee babe who awaits you in your future.” I have a wish to own her heart and soul and that will never happen unless I have something of hers that is more precious than gold, or wood or memories. She will never abandon a child.

“You cannot ask that of me. It is an evil request.”

I purse my lips and give her a forlorn glance. “Is it evil to wish for love? I have no children of my own. I am lonely. What is one child to you when your future holds many more? Here you sit and bemoan your fate when you have that which will free you at last.”

“I cannot.”

I rise. “Then I will leave.” I turn and walk toward the door. “It is sad. Love could have been yours.”

“Nay! Wait!”

I stop, but don’t turn around. I cock my head, the moment suspended in time as she struggles with her choice.

A ragged sob rips against the stillness of the room. “You don’t understand. The king wishes to take me as his wife. I cannot marry him. I love his son.”

Success is only a breath away. “If I promise you will marry the son, will you give me the child?”

“Is there nothing else that can tempt you? When I am queen, I can give you the riches of this kingdom.”

“I have riches,” I sneer. “I desire — your child. Speak now, little maiden, or soon it will be too late for even me to save you.”

“Please ask of me anything else.”

“I desire nothing else. Do you agree? Hurry, for my patience diminishes with the night.”

“But…”

“Your child.”

“Please.”

“Your child!”

“I-I…” she stammers. I know the moment she breaks, the second she accepts my evil offer. “Yes.”

I turn, my eyes glittering with victory. “You willingly give up your first born child for this straw spun into gold?”

“Yes,” she says on a note of despair. “Just do it.”

“It is done.” I pull out a pinch of magic. She bites her own finger and adds the droplet of blood. With the spindle prepared, we begin to spin.

Magic and blood;

the wheel is begun,

rough straw is fed;

golden thread is spun.

I must admit, I spin the finest gold. The king could be naught but thrilled with it. When morning comes, the girl is freed. Within the shadows, I spin a different kind of magic and the king announces his son will take the maid for his wife. The maid is thrilled as is the prince.

The handsome young man gathers her close and calls on the head guard. “Destroy the spinning wheel for my future wife will never have to spin again.”

The burning of the wheel heralds the beginning of the preparations for the wedding, and the whole country rejoices.

I make my way home, content to wait for my promised reward. I have lived so long, I have developed a patient demeanor. A year is little more than a collection of months, the passage of one season into another. As I searched for my revenge, years upon years passed before my eyes. I quiver, anticipating the sweet taste of man’s downfall. Soon, I will hold a small life in my hands and feed it bitterness. I will show it no mercy, give it no comfort. I will treat it as man has treated me.

Its mother will go mad, its father will die a broken man, and the kingdom will fall into chaos. Justice will finally be mine.

I attune my ears for the sound of a babe crying from the castle. A year passes, then two and the king dies. His son is crowned along with the beautiful maid. Another year passes and then another. I worry. Has the maid found a way to stop a babe from appearing?

I mix my magic and hold it in my hands.
“Work silent and quick and without being seen. I demand a child be given to the maid, now our queen.”
I blow the magic into the air and it rises, swirls into a coil of sparkling magic before it bursts forward and out of the forest.

Time passes, and then one day, that magic captures a wee cry and carries it over the land to my ear. My heart leaps with joy.

I find the peasant-now-queen in her bedchambers, babe at her breast and love shining from her eyes. A picture of happiness I never knew. When she sees me, she gasps and clutches the infant closer. “How did you get in here? What do you want?”

“Do you not recognize me?”

Fear sharpens her face. “Nay. Be gone.”

She does not fool me with her lies. She knows who I am and why I am here. I take a step closer. “You’ve a fine son. A healthy babe. He will do well.”

“You cannot have him.”

I scowl, not surprised by her deceitfulness. “You gave a promise. No one forced it from your lips. It was freely given. You cannot recant now.”

Her eyes well up with tears. “He is the love of my life; my husband’s pride and joy; the people’s hope for a future. I cannot give him up.”

Within her eyes I see another’s misery. I try and blink it away, but it will not go. “Am I to forgive a debt not paid?”

“Take whatever you want from me, but please, leave me my son.”

“He is all I want.”

She buries her face in the little babe’s neck. “Please. Do not take him from me. Take anything else. Anything.”

“I am touched by your pleas.” I am…and that scares me. A sliver of mercy rises, and I find myself saying, “I will give you three days to discover my name. If at the end of three days you discover my name, you can keep your child.”

A glimmer of hope softens her misery. “Your name in three days?” Hope colors her voice.

“But, if in three days you fail, you and your son are mine.”

She gasps. Eyes wide, she stammers for words.

I smile at my cleverness. “Three days.” As I go to the door a little ditty escapes my mouth.

“The hope of one

It comes undone.

A name most sought

Shall come to naught.”

My giggling fills the room, and she breaks down and cries. I turn and put a dirty finger to my mouth and shush her. A labored breath catches in her chest as she looks my way. Tears sparkle on her lashes. I wink and say, “We begin tomorrow.”

When I return to my home, I kick at the dirt and scratch the bark from the trees. What possessed me to give her a chance to keep the boy? “Woe is me! Oh, woe is me!”

My temper flares, but soon it diminishes and I begin to laugh. “My name. She thinks she can guess my name.” I laugh harder.

My confidence returns, and the next night I pay a visit to the princess.

She waits for me by the fire in the great hall, the babe asleep in his crib. Her husband is in their bedchamber high above us fast asleep. She doesn’t even give me time to sit, but takes up the scroll in her lap and launches into a list of names. “Claude? Frank? Robert? Pierre?”

I shake my head and smile as inch by inch the scroll is read. I’m beginning to enjoy this new torture, for with every name said, time runs thin and soon the boy will be mine.

I know she has asked the servants for names, for the next night, she delves into the unusual. She combines the bizarre. “Balthassar? Ignatius? Wybert? Yuri-Tasim? Cham-Deror?”

“No. No. No, no, no!” I giggle and dance and spin with delight.

“You’ll never find my name in a book,

Nor hidden in a secret nook.

It cannot be learned from dashes and blips,

Nor found upon a lover’s lips.”

The disgust she feels rides her face. This is an unexpected bit of fun.

“Leave me,” she says before the night is through. “Go back to the hole in the ground from whence you sprang.”

I pause in my celebration. “Have you run out of names so soon?” Her beautiful countenance is wreathed in mental pain. “I see you have. Please note my disappointment.” She has quit before we’ve even begun.

“One more day is all you hold.

To find my name, you must act bold.

Seek high, seek low, seek friend and foe,

Yet all you will find is hatred and woe.”

My rhymes annoy her. She takes a broom and sweeps me toward the door like unwanted refuse.

“Tomorrow I leave for good,” I say, “whether or not you stay is up to you.”

“You are a vile creature. Be gone, I say.” I leave her broken and distraught. As I return home, I see the castle servants rushing out the gate, flinging themselves far and wide in an attempt to please their lady with a name like no other. I do not fear discovery. My home is steeped in legend. No one enters the forest but the foolhardy.

A celebration is in order. I enter my forest and build a bonfire. I dance and giggle, but I keep my voice low and secretive. The princess will never guess my name. A saucy ditty leaps to my lips, and I breathe softly,

“She searches high,