The Woodcutter (13 page)

He did not blink as he replied, “Have you ever heard a pixie touch the ground?”

Her face drained of all color until it was as white as the pale moon, “Indeed.”

The Woodcutter left Baba Yaga’s castle wiser, but more frightened than he had ever been before in his life.

Chapter 36

The Woodcutter crept back into the house. The Giants slept as he dashed to the woodpile.

Jack played on. Blood ran down his soft fingers. The strings of the harp wept red.

The Woodcutter’s heart felt cut to the quick.

He took the harp from Jack’s hand quickly, without stopping the song, “I shall play while you escape. You must run. You must run as fast as you can to the stalk and return home.”

Jack stood, unsure, “What about you?”

“Go, child,” said the Woodcutter.

Big tears filled his eyes, “My mother…”

The Woodcutter understood.

He had met Jack’s mother.

“Take the coins the Giant threw. You must hurry.”

Jack tucked a giant coin beneath each arm and scurried towards the door. But he paused, looking back for just a moment. Then he ran, ran hard and ran fast until he was out of sight.

Then the Woodcutter placed his hands upon the harp’s strings and silenced her music.

Chapter 37

The Giants woke and stretched.

“Must’ve nodded off,” said the Giant. “What were you saying?”

“You never listen to me,” spat his wife.

The Giant stood and strode over to the wood box. The Woodcutter was busy tucking the harp safely in his sack and did not see the Giant as he reached in and grabbed the Woodcutter and several other tree trunks to feed to the fire.

The Giantess swayed grumbled at her husband, “I’m going to take a nap. You bore me.”

The Giant threw another tree into the hearth.

The Woodcutter heard the Giantess’s booming steps as she climbed the stairs to her room.

The Woodcutter struggled to free himself from the Giant, but his arms were pinned at his sides and unable to reach his Ax.

The Giant threw another tree in the flames, lost in thought. The Woodcutter opened his mouth and said, “You are correct, you know.”

The Giant stopped, “Did you say something?”

He brought his face close.

“Indeed. I am a new breed of tree.”

The Giant gave the Woodcutter a shake and then turned him this way and that, “You smell like a regular piece of wood. In you go.”

“Wait! I speak the truth! I am a rare specimen. Quite rare. I grow only the most magical fruit.”

The Giant eyed him once again, “Magical fruit?”

“Indeed, I have grown you a harp.”

The Giant eyed him suspiciously, “A harp? Harps don’t grow on trees.”

“Where do they come from, then?”

The Giant stopped, stumped for an answer, “Well, I don’t know. But I know they sure as heck don’t grow on trees.”

“But you see, I am a magic tree.”

“A magic tree?”

“A magic tree that grows harps.”

The Giant freed the Woodcutter just enough that he could reach into his pack and pull out the lady.

The Giant smiled, “Well, lookie here. I got me a magic tree. Now, give me my new harp.”

The Woodcutter felt the lady tremble in his arms, “Oh, but you see, she is not quite ripe yet. You should plant me in the ground.”

“I want the harp ripe, now.”

“But she is not fully grown. You will have nothing but a plain harp if you take her, but if you give her a week to grow, you shall have a magic talking harp who can tell the future.”

“You don’t say…”

“I do.”

The Giant stroked his whiskery chin, “Alright then, sproutling. You grow me this magical harp and we’ll see what’s what.”

The Giant gave the Woodcutter a little shake, “But, you better be a tree and not a twig trying to fool us.”

The Woodcutter sagely replied, “I am definitely not a twig.”

The garden was lovely, rich with flowers the size of a toddler. The Woodcutter waited, planted in the dirt to his knees, for night to fall. The Giant came out every hour to sprinkle water upon the Woodcutter’s head and to see if the harp had grown any larger.

The Woodcutter leaned against the harp, his eyes lulling closed in the growing heat of the day, when he was startled by the rustle of a golden-leafed bush. The harp gasped.

A small, dirty face looked out at him.

“Jack, what are you doing here?” the Woodcutter asked.

“I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t leave you with that monster.”

The Woodcutter’s face broke into a rare smile, “Now, Jack, I am fine.”

Jack’s voice seemed highly distressed, “But you’re buried to your knees in the dirt.”

“Merely waiting for darkness to fall and the giants to go to sleep.”

Jack’s face fell, flushed red in embarrassment.

The Woodcutter reached out as best he could, “Jack, you have a very courageous heart, but you must hurry. The Giant will be here soon to water me.”

At that moment, the earth began to rumble.

“Fee! Fi! Fo! Fum! I smell the blood of a human!”

Jack froze, his eyes wide in fright.

“My escape, fortunately, has come sooner than expected,” said the Woodcutter. He leaned forward to Jack and whispered in a low voice, “You must run as fast as you can to the beanstalk. I shall distract the Giant. When you get to the base, you must begin cutting down the stalk.”

“But what about you?”

The Woodcutter patted Jack’s head. His hands paused upon the sandy curls as a protective surge for this child welled up strangely inside.

“Son…”

The word slipped from his lips without thinking.

Son.

The Giant tore out a rutabaga and heaved it into the air, sending it dangerously close.

“I shall be fine,” the Woodcutter said. “Now go.”

Jack nodded and took off.

The Woodcutter freed his legs from the soil and turned to the harp, “Are you ready to help save both our lives?”

The Giant stopped as he heard the harp cry, “Giant! Oh, Giant! Someone steals your harp! Help me, oh Giant!”

“HUMAN!” the Giant roared.

The Woodcutter began running, the harp shouting in his arms. Into the woods he ran, leading the Giant away from the child he had accidentally called “son.”

The Woodcutter hid behind a tree.

The lady of the harp smothered a giggle as the Giant clomped nearby, overthrowing rock and moss-covered logs.

As the Giant plowed through a brook and continued farther into the forest, the Woodcutter whispered to the lady, “I believe we are safe.”

He lifted the harp and began running in the opposite direction, but just as they reached the tree line, the Woodcutter’s foot caught on a rock. He stumbled forward, causing the harp’s strings to vibrate. She held her hands over her mouth, as if to silence the noise.

But in the distance, the Woodcutter heard the Giant bellow, “HUMAN! I’ve got you now!”

The Woodcutter ran.

He ran past the Giant’s house and down the path through the dust fields. The Woodcutter could feel the Giant’s thundering steps shake the stones beneath his feet. The Giant was still far behind, but gaining.

The Woodcutter tucked the harp into his sack. She smiled at him as she disappeared beneath the flap. He swung himself onto the stalk and started to descend.

Halfway down, the beanstalk swayed violently. The Woodcutter looked up and saw the Giant had reached the top of the plant.

The Woodcutter sped to the base.

As the Woodcutter’s feet hit the ground, he turned to Jack, who stood with an ax hanging limply in his scabbed fingers. The wounds from playing the harp had reopened and tears were in the child’s eyes. He looked pitifully at the Woodcutter, as if apologizing for his inability to make anything more than a small dent.

The Woodcutter placed his hand upon the stalk, feeling it tremble as it supported the Giant’s weight, “Gentle stalk, I ask you to sacrifice your life for the life of this boy.”

The stalk sighed sadly, and then whispered,
Yes
.

The Woodcutter ripped the ax from Jack’s limp hand and began hacking furiously.

The stalk helped, ripping itself at its base.

The Woodcutter was halfway through when the stalk seemed to transform from plant to rock hardness. The blow of his ax rang harshly through his body. The stalk whispered urgently,
Hush!

The Woodcutter looked. He reached out his senses. He tried to find what caused the stalk to give a warning.

There was no magic…

But then he looked up, and then he saw.

As the stalk swayed, it dashed its uppermost limbs upon the vaporized magic, which now began to fall like snow upon the farm of ordinariness.

“No…no…” the Woodcutter whispered.

He placed his hands upon the stalk, as if they could repair the damage done.

But the stalk had been cut too far.

As the Giant fell, he brought down half the sky.

Brought down the sky of dust.

The Woodcutter grabbed Jack by the wrist and raced him beneath a fragile lean-to that stood next to the pigpens of Jack’s home. The Woodcutter hid the boy beneath his coat as he watched. He could feel the child tremble.

With the mortal thud of the Giant touching the earth, Jack’s mother stepped from her home.

“Go inside!” the Woodcutter shouted.

“Who do you think you are, you lousy, stinking---” she shouted back.

She was cut off mid-insult as the dust fell upon her skin.

She looked up at the sky and touched the flake. She shook her fist, “Whaddya mean by this? Warm snow?”

Her eyes glazed over and her jaw went slack as half the sky fell upon her.

“Mother!” Jack cried. He pulled away the Woodcutter’s jacket and struggled towards her.

“Stop! You must not run!” the Woodcutter said, holding Jack back and out of the dust.

He knew, even as Jack wiggled in his arms.

He knew as the darkness overtook the day and chased away the light.

He knew as Jack’s mother stood, glowing in the shower of faerie dust, more dust than any red-blooded human should have ever come in contact with, as the land was bathed in more dust than any iron could repel.

He knew what was coming next.

He watched powerlessly as the normal land was transformed to magic, as the farm was transformed to a Kingdom and as the plain farmer was transformed to a blue blood and a queen whose heart was wild and unclaimed.

The wind whipped wildly and lightning cracked.

The magic called out like a lantern on the dark sea.

He heard the Beast.

He heard the footfalls. He heard the snarls.

He looked over to the Queen of this new Thirteenth Kingdom and he saw that she heard it, too.

And she began to run.

The Woodcutter shielded Jack’s eyes.

He could do nothing, not without risking Jack.

He could not risk another child’s life…

Small hands next to the flowers on the floor…

He could do nothing to save the woman.

Glass slippers upon the tiny, blue veined feet.

His breath caught in his throat.

He felt Jack tremble.

He watched as the Beast was upon the child’s mother.

Watched as her body dropped to the ground.

“Mother!” Jack cried.

The Woodcutter felt her soul disappear.

The darkness lifted from the Thirteenth Kingdom and all was still.

Jack struggled and, this time, the Woodcutter did not hold him back.

“Mother…” Jack’s tears spilled from his eyes as he bent over the woman.

The Woodcutter was sure his heart would break.

Just then, the earth shimmered.

And the Woodcutter saw a House he had hoped to never see again.

“Come, Jack,” he spoke. “We must leave now.”

He grasped the boy by the hand and turned.

And found himself in the ballroom of the Gentleman.

Chapter 38

The Gentleman looked as sickly as ever in the pale, washed out light of the ballroom.

“Well, well… Woodcutter.” The Gentleman stood from his dais and slunk to their side, “It seems you have more a taste for dust than you let on.”