Scarlet Moon (Once Upon a Time) (15 page)

T
he trees were whispering again as Ruth hurried toward her grandmother’s. She couldn’t tell what the trees were saying, but it made her scurry even faster, feet flying across the crunching snow. Two weeks had passed since Ruth had told Giselle of William’s curse. When she had gone last week to try and discuss it further, she had been frustrated in her purpose by the presence of Peter.

Peter arrived before she did, and he left after she did as well. These days he looked gaunt, his hair pulled back with a leather tie. He had been growing his beard out, and it was at the length that made him look a little wild and unkempt. He paced the room constantly, reminding Ruth of the squirrel that had spent three hours accidentally trapped in the cottage the summer before.

Ruth had wished to discuss him with her grandmother as well, but she didn’t have the chance.
Today, hopefully, things will be different.

When she reached the clearing, she noted how silent everything seemed. A ripple of unease went through her as she knocked on the door. There was no answer.

“Grandmother,” Ruth called as she opened the door. She walked inside, and her blood ran cold. Everywhere glass jars lay smashed on the floor. Her grandmother’s worktable was turned over, its contents scattered everywhere.

“Grandmother,” Ruth whispered, terror filling her.

A groan from the corner drew her attention. There lay Giselle, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and shards of broken glass covering her clothes, Ruth dropped to her knees and cradled her grandmother’s head.

“Who did this to you?” she gasped.

Giselle could only manage a gurgling sound.

“What did they do to you?”

Again there was no answer, Giselle’s eyes closed and her body slumped.

“Grandmother!” Ruth screamed.

Giselle did not stir, but Ruth noticed with relief the steady rise and fall of her chest. At least she was still alive, Ruth gently eased her grandmother’s head back down on the ground and stood up.
Somewhere in this house there is something that can help me; I just need to figure out what it is.
She crossed to a shelf whose jars were still intact and studied the contents.

Three hours later Ruth had cleaned up the house as best as she could. She had moved her grandmother to the bed and had done her best to make her comfortable. She had applied a poultice to her grandmother’s wounds and was trying to decide what to do next.

Outside the wind howled like a ravenous wolf, rattling the shutters as though seeking a way in. It was then that Ruth truly understood that she was wrestling not with nature or injury but with death itself. She raised her fists to the sky. “You cannot have her,” she cried to wind and dark and death. Just then there was a knock at the door. She flung open the door, half expecting hell itself to be on the other side. Instead it was William, his face twisted in concern.

“I waited for you for hours,” he said. “Is anything wrong?”

“Everything,” she said. “Someone attacked Grandmother”

“What!” William exploded, pushing past her into the cabin. “Is she okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what I can do to help her.”

William knelt by her grandmother and laid his ear to her chest. “Her heartbeat is slow, erratic,” he said after a moment. He glanced up. “Could she have been poisoned with something here?” he asked.

“I’m sure she was, but I don’t know with what,” Ruth said, cursing herself for not being able to think clearly.

“We can take her to the village healer.”

“No!” Ruth exclaimed. “She is not welcome in the village. Also, she and the healer never saw eye to eye. She would rather die than have him treat her.”

“Well, she might just do that,” William said
grimly, rising to his feet. “Tell me what I can do”

“Go tell my father what has happened,” she begged.

Her father came, but there was nothing he could do other than look helplessly at the still body of his mother. At last he went home, tired and upset. Peter didn’t come, but sent word that he would help out her father while she took care of their grandmother.

For Ruth, it was a long, sleepless night filled with worry. The next morning she sat by her grandmother’s bed, grateful that Peter had offered to help her father in the shop for a few days. She was surprised that he hadn’t offered instead to come and keep watch over Giselle, though.
Maybe he’s seen too much death and illness
, she thought.

Ruth continued to work on finding a cure for the one woman who could have told her what to use. “Come on, Grandmother, wake up. I need another lecture,” she pleaded softly.

It’s not fair that the one person who could fix all this is the one person who can’t
, she thought.

She had racked her brain time and again thinking of all the poisons her grandmother had warned her about. None of them seemed to match Giselle’s symptoms.

She rose and walked about the room, stopping to look again at each jar, each potted plant, and each drying herb.
The answer is here, I know it
, she thought, frustrated.

She sat again and took a deep breath. Mentally
she ticked off once more all the poisons she knew. Then, at last, it came to her.
The day I came to tell her Stephen was dead. What was she talking about?

Monkshood.

That is it!

“God, please let me remember how to treat it,” she prayed.

Grandmother said it was incredibly deadly. A small amount could cause numbing, a tiny bit more death. She also went on to say something about slowing the heart, causing paralysis….

She struck her fist into her open palm. If it could do that, surely it could render someone unconscious.

With renewed purpose she made the rounds of the cottage, searching for the cure.
I don’t remember what it was, but hopefully something will jog my memory.

When she came across the digitalis, she remembered, “I have to fight poison with poison,” she said out loud, beginning to feel sick with anxiety. “I could kill her, but if I do nothing, she will die anyway.”

She turned, determined, and crossed back to her grandmother. She placed a piece of the poison plant in her grandmother’s mouth and washed it down with a small sip of wine.
She said something about alcohol being good for treating both of them. Let’s hope she was right.

Ruth waited anxiously for some sign. Nothing happened for nearly an hour, and then, suddenly, Giselle began to vomit.

Ruth panicked but quickly rolled her grandmother
onto her side and helped clean out her mouth. The older woman’s chest began to heave and her skin grew warm to the touch, a marked difference from her clamminess that morning.

Suddenly her eyes flew open, the blue almost totally obscured by the black orbs in the centers. They were enormous, but some part of Ruth told her that this was right.

Giselle reached up and grasped Ruth’s hand for a moment. She squeezed it hard before her own hand fell back to her side and her eyes closed. Her body slumped again and Ruth feared the worst. Giselle’s chest still rose and fell steadily, though.

Ruth put her ear to her grandmother’s chest and cried for joy when she could hear her heart beat, steady and strong.
It is working! Hold on, Grandmother, you’re going to be okay after all
, Ruth thought.

She sat back up with an overwhelming sense of relief. As she stared at her grandmother’s body, however, she realized that they weren’t out of the woods yet.

Over the next several days her grandmother awoke off and on, usually just long enough to take a sip of water. She still couldn’t speak, but she smiled up at Ruth, her eyes expressive, before she would slip back into her slumber.

Ruth longed to ask her what had happened, who had attacked her, but her grandmother was never conscious for long enough.
Not that she could answer me anyway.

The days passed and Ruth’s anxiety grew. William visited several times, always accompanied by her father. Ruth managed to joke that her grandmother wasn’t much of a chaperone in her state, but it was hard to feel cheerful.

Still, the wedding plans were laid, and her father managed to get work done at his shop. The world moved on without Ruth. But as the full moon drew near again Ruth began to fear. She had never been able to discuss with her grandmother what to do to help William.

At last, the night before William was to transform, Giselle awoke and was able to stay conscious. She tried to speak but could not yet, her throat still raw from her ordeal. The next afternoon Ruth felt she could leave her alone, at least for a few hours, while she tended to the wolf.

T
he trees were anxious. They looked down upon the man and woman in the woods and watched as she chained him up with great and mighty chains. One of the trees volunteered his trunk as an anchor for the chains, but he did not believe they would hold.

The trees had seen the man before, and they knew what he was capable of They knew that in his other form he had hurt the woman twice. They fretted for her, but there was nothing they could do. Her course was set and she would not be swayed. The trees sighed mournfully.

There is only the wolf now, there is no more me. Killing, fighting, hide who you are, but not forever. She could help him, but she wouldn’t; and for that she was going to pay.

“Are the chains tight enough?” Ruth asked, testing them one last time.

“They feel secure now, but I do not know if they will hold once I am transformed.”

“Its a chance were just going to have to take,” she admitted, even though she didn’t like it.

“It would be safer if you left,” William urged. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

She shook her head emphatically. “We will never know for sure unless I stay and keep watch.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. “You are as wise as you are brave.”

“You forgot beautiful,” she teased.

“Well, that one was a given,” he said, smiling. He looked up at the sky and his smile slowly faded. “The sun is going down.”

“So it is,” she murmured, looking at the darkening sky. She bent forward and kissed him, and she prayed that it wasn’t for the last time.

She then moved a little distance away, out of his reach, and sat down with her back to another tree. The first snow of the year had thawed and the ground was dry once more. She carefully wrapped her scarlet cloak around her, grateful for the protection it offered and only slightly saddened by the memory that it was her brother’s armor that lined her cloak and kept her safe. Once seated, she pulled out her dagger and clutched it tightly in her hand.

Next to her on the ground was an extra change of his clothes. For modesty’s sake he had foregone his usual practice of undressing before transformation.

“Don’t forget, the wolf can sense fear,” he said by way of a final caution.

As the last light of the lingering sun left the sky, Ruth felt a shock go through her. She shivered and turned her eyes to William.

He lay, body contorting and convulsing upon the ground. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming. She heard the sound of rending fabric, and soon gray tufts of fur began to peer through his clothes.

“William?” she whispered despite herself.

She heard the cracking of bones as his body reformed itself Snarling and whimpering sounds that could not be made by a human came from the writhing form. She closed her eyes, unable to bear it any longer.

When the sounds had subsided, she opened her eyes to find that William was completely gone and in his place stood a large wolf. She shivered and involuntarily pressed her back harder against the tree, her body seeking an escape route.

When the animal threw back its head and howled at the moon already rising in the sky, it was the most frightening sound she had ever heard. She gasped as a shiver raced up her spine.

The wolf turned suddenly toward her, its large green eyes on her.
William’s eyes. I don’t know why I never realized it before.

The creature lunged at her, and with a scream she raised her knife up in front of her to protect herself. The chains held, though, and brought him up short. He strained at them, snarling and snapping not four feet from her. His massive paws dug into the ground, tearing it up.