The Woodcutter (8 page)

The leaves of the hollow tree seemed to rustle, warily, but in understanding.

The Woodcutter held out his hand to Rapunzel and helped her to her feet.

They walked in the opposite direction of the Beast for the rest of the night, until the sky slowly faded from deep blue to light pink.

As the sun kissed the morning, they reached the clearing. The tower had no windows or doors, only a single balcony forty feet above the ground.

Rapunzel held out her hand out to the Woodcutter, “Promise to come back for me?”

The Woodcutter took her tiny fingers in his palm, “I promise.”

He turned towards the trees, at their long strips of bark, knowing he must ask them for a sacrifice to create a rope to climb to the top of the tower.

But before the wish could escape his lips, Rapunzel was already several feet off the ground, scaling the sheer sides of the building.

“Do not injure yourself!” he cried out in alarm.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled, “I have always been good at climbing.”

He watched as those tiny fingers found holds in the wall of the tower, as her feet found an impossible ledge, as she climbed higher and higher. She finally pulled herself over the balcony into the only window.

He stood below, wondering if he had done right to bring her, to leave her in the tower by herself, but the glowing form of the hellhound crept into the back of his mind, the hellhound who had killed so many already.

Suddenly, the Woodcutter heard the sound of scuffling and heard Rapunzel’s terrified cry.

“Rapunzel!” he shouted as he looked for those holds that would carry him up the sheer blocks.

“Rapunzel!” he cried as the scuffling abruptly stopped.

Silence.

Silence.

His heart seemed to stop beating in that silence of a thousand years.

“It’s alright!” she called down. “There is someone else here.”

His heart was in his throat, “Who?”

Her voice softened.

And a warm buzz ran its way through the Woodcutter’s veins.

“A man.”

A man.

She and the man appeared on the balcony, their gaze oddly intent.

Wild magic finding its path.

Wild magic finding its home.

“I am Prince Martin,” the tawny headed man called down. A ladder was thrown over the balcony and the two descended.

Chapter 24

Frog songs filled the night and a crackling fire warmed their camp. The three had finished dinner and the conversation had slowed to silence. Rapunzel stepped out of the light and Prince Martin excused himself.

The Woodcutter watched the flames as they licked and popped in the air.

He lit his pipe.

You shall have your princes, but not here. Go find them, dog.

The words of the strange Gentleman echoed in his memory.

Go find them.

The Woodcutter tried not to listen to the breathy feminine giggles coming from the forest and the lower rumbling response.

Go find them.

Prince Martin, heir to the Eighth Kingdom, said he had gone on an overnight hunting trip. He said he went to sleep with his party, but woke in the tower. He had no memory of the Vanishing House, but the Woodcutter remembered Prince Martin’s face. He had carried a tray of silver dust boxes.

The Woodcutter gazed at the rings of smoke from his pipe.

Powerful magic. Princes. Princesses. Hellhounds…

The Woodcutter’s thoughts were interrupted by a clap of thunder as lightning lit up the sky.

The cry of the hellhound rang out into the night.

He jumped from his seat, Ax in hand.

Prince Martin and Rapunzel ran back. Prince Martin’s sword was drawn and Rapunzel clung to his side.

The Woodcutter smiled and lowered his weapon.

Of course.

“You kissed her,” the Woodcutter said.

The bright flush to Rapunzel’s cheeks told him the answer.

Prince Martin looked at him threateningly, “And what if I did?”

The Woodcutter laughed a powerful laugh that calmed the wind, a laugh that seemed to part the phantom clouds until the moon shone bright once more, a laugh that seemed to set everything right.

“True love’s first kiss.”

The young couple looked at one another.

Yes, true love’s first kiss.

“The spell has been broken,” said the Woodcutter. He sheathed the Platinum Ax. “The Hellhound that stalked you will have lost your scent, for you are no longer that which you were and will forever be more than you ever thought possible.

“In losing yourself to one another, you have won. The blood of the fae within your veins has been tamed and you have fulfilled your role in the treaty – for you have chosen to love.

“The Wood shall now grant you safe passage to your home. Whatever danger you were once in has now passed. Tomorrow, Prince Martin, no matter what direction you travel, you shall arrive in your kingdom by sundown. There, you shall wed your Rapunzel and, together, you shall live happily ever after.”

The couple smiled curiously at one another.

The Woodcutter rose to retire for the night and leave the young couple to discovery. He knew they no longer needed him, for wild magic does not meddle with the hearts of those who have tamed it with love true.

For true love conquers all.

Chapter 25

He left them in the morning, parting with them at a crossroads. A dappled grey horse stood, as if waiting – which he was.

Prince Martin slid his hand along the horse’s neck, “Why, it’s Pacer! I haven’t seen him since the hunting trip…”

His voice trailed off and he looked at the Woodcutter, worriedly.

“Your horse has been kept well by the Woods and is free of all enchantments. Give him his head and ride steadily on. You shall be home before nightfall,” said the Woodcutter.

He was almost telling the truth.

As Prince Martin helped Rapunzel mount, the horse looked back at the Woodcutter.

And winked.

The Woodcutter hid his smile in his beard.

An animal does not spend so many days eating the foods of the fae without some effect.

“We thank you, Woodcutter, for your kindness,” Prince Martin began.

“We shall never forget…” Rapunzel continued.

The Woodcutter was about to wave them away...

But the trees began to whisper, began to whisper to him of a duty…

He closed his eyes. He opened his ears. He allowed his mouth to be the mouth of the Wood.

“Repay the kindness you have received by allowing your kingdom to be a friend to these Woods. Harm not the trees or the animals. Harm not the fae. And you shall travel its paths with no fear,” said the words that came out.

Prince Martin declared, “So shall it be done by ourselves and our descendants. You shall always be welcomed and heralded as a friend whenever you visit the Eighth Kingdom.”

The Woodcutter opened his eyes and the trees murmured their thanks.

“Travel well, my friends,” said the Woodcutter.

He watched them as they rode out of sight.

Chapter 26

The water was cold and deep.

It had started off at his ankles, but soon was to his thighs and then his waist and then deeper.

The roots of the mangroves were giant fingers soaking in a bowl of pale brown water. The thick fog of the flooded forest masked his view. A bird cried overhead.

He pushed aside a stick as it floated towards him. His foot slipped upon a rock and the water rose to his neck. His arms held his pack tightly upon his head as he looked up at the soft, twinkling lights radiating from the tops of the trees.

Faerie light.

Pixies congregated freely in this deep, hidden corner of the Woods. Their gentle pinpricks would dart together and then dart off again to another tree. Their musical speech floated down like tiny bells. Tiny bells that seemed to laugh…

The tiny foot hitting the earth…

His mind revolted and pushed the memory away.

“Woodcutter…”

The voice shot from tree to tree, echoing high in the branches.

“Woodcutter…”

He hated traveling at dusk, when the ordered magic of the day made way for the wild magic of night. His hand secretly gripped the handle of the Platinum Ax.

“Woodcutter…” came the voice again.

“Who calls my name?” he asked.

The tinkling of female laughter shook the leaves of the trees.

“Who?” he called.

The whole forest shook as the laughter seemed to gather in the arms of a giant mangrove tree before him. The sound wrapped from the base and climbed up the trunk, and as it touched the highest bough, a mighty cracking sound cut across the forest. Like a sleepy kitten uncurling in a sunbeam, the tree opened, revealing a radiant woman of glowing pink, ungarbed, but not indecent. The dryad was art and life. Her voice was deep and earthy as she reached an impossibly slender hand to him.

“Woodcutter, hast thou ever spilt the sap of an unwilling tree?” she asked.

The water flowing about him became warm and still. A sense of peace and contentment washed over the Woodcutter as he gazed upon her face.

The Woodcutter bowed his head.

“Never, Mother Dryad,” he said. “My ax remains virgin and true.”

She smiled quietly, “Word of thy deeds has reached our ears.”

The trunks of ten…twenty…thirty…mangroves opened, revealing their hidden, glowing mistresses.

The Mother Dryad motioned to her sisters, “We have heard of thy quest to find the Crone and will grant thee safe passage through our grove.”

“Sister,” whispered one of the creatures, “the pixies.”

The trees’ branches shook anxiously.

“The pixies…” they whispered urgently.

The Woodcutter offered, “Mother Dryad, I have heard of terrible deeds, of pixies touching the earth.”

The trees shook in horror and the lights of the dryads dimmed sadly.

“They came to our grove,” said a green dryad as she pointed to the top of her tree. The top still sparkled, but not as brightly as the tree beside her.

“They came and…kidnapped…”

“They spilled innocent sap…”

“Stole the fae…”

The pink Mother Dryad held up a hand to silence them as the dryads spoke at once, but they would not be stilled and continued.

“We grow here, sisters of the Mother Dryad, and we may not leave. But our daughter pixies…”

“Robbed of their magic…”

“Touching the earth…”

Mother Dryad’s face was haunted pain as her sisters’ voices rose. Her eyes locked upon the Woodcutter, “Each atrocity reverberates to our very roots.”

“The stolen magic steals from us our strength…”

“Help us!”

“We cannot leave our trees…”

“But you can…”

The feminine voices climbed, pleading in chorus, “We shall aid your journey to the Crone if you will save our daughters.”

The Woodcutter held up his hand and the trees fell silent.

“I am your servant,” he said.

The Mother Dryad smiled hopefully as a single tear drifted down her pink cheek. She clasped her hands together and caught the tear as it fell. When she opened her hands, three round seeds glowed in her palm.

She tossed them gently to the Woodcutter and they arced through the air, a trail of gold following them in the dark.

He caught them in his mighty fist.

“Thou shalt know what to do with them…” said the Mother Dryad.

“You shall know…” the trees spoke.

The Mother Dryad swept her hand before her and a branch from her tree dipped into the water.

The Woodcutter felt the wood against his back and felt himself lifted from the flood.

“We grant thee safe passage,” said the Mother Dryad.

Another bough came forward, cradling him as the trees transferred his body from one to the next.

“Remember your promise.”

The trunks began closing behind him. The eyes of the pink dryad never left his face until the final moment of the bark’s embrace.

Swiftly the trees moved him through the swamp, high above the chill of the water.

A small light darted curiously to his face. The newborn pixie was the size of his thumb and as round as baby chick. Its large black eyes studied the Woodcutter before laughing and darting away.