Veiled Rose (5 page)

“The younger brother was given a sword. Let me think, what was the name? Hasli . . . no, Halisa, maybe? Something foreign. It translates as
Fireword
, though. And the older brother was given the Asha Lantern, which means hope, or life, or something like that.”

Leo saw he was losing his audience’s interest. The girl began to fidget, her veiled face tilting to one side as though she was ready to fall asleep. This would not do. Leo narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t the greatest hero in the world, nor the most successful monster hunter. But by Iubdan’s beard, he was a masterful entertainer!

He leapt to his feet, brandishing his beanpole as though he bore the famed Fireword itself.

“The younger brother became a great hero in the Near World, and he trained other heroes like him. He fought back the monsters of the Far World that tried to cross over and devour the weak mortals.” Leo stabbed at the air and twirled about, drawing the girl’s attention once more. She ducked to avoid a blow, but Leo heard her laugh as well.

Stopping for breath, Leo continued. “Together, the brothers built great houses over all the Continent. These were enormous halls with doors opening east and west. And when the older brother shone the light of his lantern inside them, the glow remained for years afterward.”

“Was it pretty?” the girl asked.

Leo nodded. He indicated the orange sun, which was beginning to set heavily, casting saffron light upon the clouds. “Do you see that sunset? Imagine that, only a hundred times prettier! That was what the Asha Lantern was like.”

“Coo,” breathed the girl.

“The Near World became prosperous under the brothers’ care. People felt safe and happy.” Leo crouched down suddenly, his beanpole behind him, and jabbed a finger at the girl’s veil, startling her. “But it couldn’t last.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“The Dragonwitch.”

“I heard of her. She lived in these here parts once, didn’t she?”

“I think so. Not really, of course. Only in stories. But they say she came to this land. Twice, actually. But that’s not part of this story. In this story, she came bursting from the Far World in a great
POOF
!”

“Poof?” The girl looked unimpressed.

“You know what I mean,” Leo said. “The sound fire makes.” Then he roared, his very best dragon imitation . . . which was pretty good considering he had never heard a dragon. “She was the firstborn child of the Dragon King, a Faerie queen herself once upon a time. And she hated mortal men! So she set upon the Great Houses built by the brothers, tore down the doors, and burned the rooftops. She lit them up like so many bonfires across the Continent!”

“Sad.”

“Not just sad,” Leo declared. “Terrifying! Of course, the brothers set out to stop her. It was the older brother who tracked her down, using the light of his lantern. And then the younger brother—I believe his name was Etanun. It means
strength.
Anyway, he fought her.” With more roars and an appropriate amount of spitting, Leo struck the air with his beanpole. “Fireword plunged into the Dragonwitch’s heart, and she fell down dead.

“The older brother found Etanun nearly killed from the wounds the Dragonwitch gave him in battle. A dragon’s claws are poisonous, you know, even more poisonous than its breath. Some of the dragon poison got into the younger brother, and though the older brother—his name was Akilun—though he tried to heal him, a trace of poison remained in Etanun’s veins.”

“So what about my cave?” asked the girl. “How does it fit into this story?”

“Just listen!” Leo sprawled out on the stone, pretending to be badly wounded, gasping for breath and pressing a hand to his neck. “Etanun was weak, but he would recover. He said to his brother, ‘I have killed the Dragonwitch!’ ” Then Leo changed his tone to be the deeper voice of the other brother. “ ‘No, Etanun,’ said Akilun. ‘You have only destroyed her first life.’ ”

“Her what?”

“Her first life. According to stories, all the kings and queens of the Far World have three lives. That’s why they live so much longer than mortals do. They get three lives before they have to cross the Final Water. Sometimes they live all three lives at once in three different bodies. Most of the time, they save them.”

“That’s very odd,” said the girl.

“It's normal for Faeries,” Leo replied. “Now listen. Etanun did not want to believe his brother. He determined that the Dragonwitch had to be dead because he had killed her with his magic sword. He was angry at Akilun for even suggesting that she would come back. But that anger was just the dragon poison in his veins.

“Generations passed. And the Dragonwitch returned. This time, she was more powerful, more dreadful than ever, and her destruction was greater. Once more, Akilun and Etanun set out to hunt her down. They found her on a beautiful plain known as Corrilond Green. But after their battle, the fertile green fields were wasted into dry desert. That’s why the old kings and queens of Corrilond were called the Desert Monarchs. And now that Corrilond is gone, we call it the Red Desert.”

“I ain’t never heard of Corry-land.”

Leo shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. That’s not part of this story anyway. The important thing is, Etanun killed the Dragonwitch a second time. But before he did, she cut him with her claw, into the shoulder. Akilun tended to him again, but when the wound healed over, there was still poison inside.”

“That don’t sound good,” said the girl.

“It wasn’t. When Etanun recovered, he once more declared, ‘I have killed the Dragonwitch!’ ” Leo bellowed this in his best heroic voice. Then he changed his tone to be deep and wise. “ ‘No, my brother,’ said Akilun. ‘You have merely killed her the second time. The Dragonwitch will return once more.’

“Etanun flew into a rage, inspired by the poison inside him. He flung Fireword far from him, saying, ‘Who can trust such a sword, when it could not even kill the Dragonwitch?’ Then he fled from Akilun, far, far away. But Akilun knew where he was going.”

“Where?”

“The younger brother was determined to find the Dragon who fathered the Dragonwitch. He wanted the power of the Dragonwitch for himself.”

Leo pointed toward the mouth of the cave. In the deepening twilight, it looked even more like a wolf’s head to him. But it was just a cave. And this was just a story. “In my book,” he said, “there is an engraving of the Gateway to Death. It looks like that. Like a wolf’s head.”

“Folks say it’s the face of the Wolf Lord,” said the girl.

“This all happened long before the Wolf Lord,” Leo replied dismissively. He continued his narrative. “Etanun walked through the gate as he sought out the Dragon. What he did not know was that Akilun, following the light of the Asha Lantern, pursued him.

“The path to the Dragon’s Kingdom is long and perilous. But Akilun caught up with his brother at last and held him tight. ‘I won’t let you do this,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you destroy yourself.’

“ ‘Ha!’ said Etanun. ‘My Prince abandoned me when he gave me that faulty sword of his! You will soon abandon me too! I will offer myself to the Dragon as his servant, for his power is the only power that lasts!’ Then he wrestled against Akilun’s grasp. His strength was much greater than that of his brother, but Akilun’s love was greater still.”

Leo rolled his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. “I know that sounds silly. That’s the way it was in the book.”

“It don’t sound silly. It sounds pretty,” said the girl, exactly like a girl.

Leo rolled his eyes again and continued. “They battled a long time on that dark pathway. The book said their battle lasted through generations of mortal men, but that is probably just book talk. At last, Akilun forced his brother to gaze into the light of the Asha Lantern. ‘Look at it!’ he cried. ‘Look at it and know the truth once more!’ The light nearly blinded Etanun. But it was so pure and so bright that it drove the dragon poison right out of his veins. He stopped struggling, and both brothers collapsed.

“When Etanun came to himself once more, he was no longer poisoned. He realized that he’d been wrong to doubt the power and strength of his Prince, to throw away his gift so quickly. And he realized what a narrow escape he had had, thanks to his brother. But when he turned to him, he found that Akilun was dead.”

“Oh!” The girl shook her head. “Not really dead?”

“Yes. Really dead. As the book said, ‘His spirit was flown across the Final Water.’ ”

“That’s sad.”

“I never said it was a happy story.”

“What’s the good of a story that ain’t got a happy endin’?” the girl demanded, crossing her arms.

Leo considered. “Maybe it does have a happy ending. At least, when it’s actually complete. I mean, this part of it is sad. But maybe something good will come from it still? I suppose you have to read all the legends together to know for sure, but I don’t know all of them. This one is sad, but there might be a story out there somewhere to make it happy.”

The girl nodded. “I’d like to know that story someday.”

Leo didn’t answer. He leaned against his beanpole, eyeing the mouth of the cave once more.

“What happened to the younger brother?” the girl asked at length.

“Oh, he buried Akilun right there on the path’s side. Put a stone marker on the grave and set the lantern on top. It’s supposed to shine for those who walk Death’s Path, offering hope. Something like that.” Leo’s hand moved up and down the beanpole, knuckles whitening intermittently. “So . . . there isn’t really a monster in this cave, is there?”

The girl didn’t answer for a long moment. Then she said, “You’d have to go in to find out.”

Leo nodded. “It’s getting dark now,” he said. “I . . . I should probably retire and plan my assault first. Come back again tomorrow when I’m better prepared, right?”

To his great relief, she nodded. “That’s good. But you won’t find the cave by yourself.”

“I won’t?”

“Nobody finds this place on their own.”

This thought didn’t bother Leo as much as she seemed to think it would.

“You’ll need me,” she went on. “I can lead you here in a snap, any time you like! Just so long as Beana don’t catch on. Beana don’t like me to come up here without her.”

“Who’s Beana again?”

“My nanny.”

Oh, that’s right!
Leo breathed with sudden relief as he stepped away from the cave mouth and followed her back through the rocks. This girl made up wild stories. And that’s all this cave was too . . . one of her fantasies, one of his legends. The stuff of Faerie tales and nothing else. There wasn’t really a monster either, just like Foxbrush said. It was a folktale, and right now, Leo thought that was just fine. But he could pretend. The farther he got from that cave, the better this idea sounded. He could pretend to be fierce and brave, pretend there was a monster, and let all those pretends stay in the realm of imagination where they belonged.

The girl took his hand again at the cliff and guided him safely to the lower ground, but only after he made certain he knew the direction of Hill House’s chimneys. “It’s easy enough to find,” she told him, though he did not mention where he was from or where he was going. She seemed to know without being told. “That big old house is hard to miss, and you’ll see the path again soon enough. If you have any trouble, sing out, and I’ll come get you.”

She may have been nothing but an odd child, but somehow this offer comforted Leo more than he would have admitted. He responded with a curt nod and started on his way.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” the girl called after him.

He looked about and saw her standing small again in that manner of hers, huddling into herself as though she could huddle away into nothing.

He shrugged. “I’ll come back.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Leo.”

“Do you want to know my name?”

“I suppose.”

“I’m called Rose Red,” she said. Then she was gone, vanished into the rocks and woods.

Leo descended the mountain, crashing through the underbrush as fast as he could go. Sure enough, he found the path; sure enough, he reached the garden gate not long after the sun set; sure enough, he was late to supper, scolded, and not given any pudding.

R
OSE
R
ED HAD THREE PEOPLE
in her life who loved her: the old man she called father, her pet nanny goat, and her Imaginary Friend.

And of course, there was her Dream. But Rose Red did not like to think of her Dream during waking hours.

She found the boy’s hat as she climbed back down the mountainside. Such an odd contraption, ill fitting and useless in the rain. But she picked it up and smiled. Perhaps he would come back tomorrow. He’d said he would. He would come for his hat at least. She took it with her, plopping it on her own head, over the veils.

Life was lonely in the high country, and Rose Red lived a lonelier life than most. Every morning before dawn, she woke and fixed a lumpy porridge for the man she called father. Just as the sky began to lighten, he would wake, eat what she fed him, and make his way down the narrow, almost nonexistent path from their cottage to Hill House, where he worked until after the sun set. During the time between, Rose Red kept the cottage in repair, tended their meager garden, found food for her nanny goat, and kept to herself.

Away from the main road.

Deep in the forest.

“Why do I have to wear these things?” she had asked her Imaginary Friend once, plucking at her veils.

You don’t
, said he. He was a prince, of course. Rose Red, being a romantic child at heart, would hardly imagine anything less. But he always appeared to her in the form of a wood thrush.
You never do with me.

“Me dad says I do. If I go out and about, he says I’ve got to wear them.”

Your father loves you. Trust him. Obey him.

“I do, but . . .” Rose Red plucked at the veils again and huffed loudly. “Gets awful hot sometimes!”

Her Imaginary Friend sang gently in his silvery voice.
You needn’t wear them with me.

He really was a wonderful friend. But unfortunately he remained imaginary. And sometimes—such as when she dreamed—she couldn’t conjure him up at all.