CHAPTER 11

The village disappeared beneath the horizon as he made his way to the Wood. The trees swayed in greeting; they knew him here.

The Woodcutter inhaled deeply, searching for the tainted scent he first smelled on the woman with glass slippers. The wind brought him no answers. He slowed his pace, looking at the vegetation for bruises or broken branches. He searched the ground, looking everywhere for a sign.

The boot impression was almost hidden in the dry dirt and pine needles. The next footprint was small and delicate, slightly larger than the palm of his hand. Deeper and deeper into the Wood he followed the tracks left unwittingly by their owners.

A flash of dark hair between the branches and leaves caught the corner of his eye. He crept forward.

A young girl cried softly.

Hair as black as ebony.

He relaxed and allowed the leaves to crunch beneath his feet.

Skin as white as snow.

She leapt up.

Lips as red as blood.

As blood.

Blood.

And that was when he realized things were horribly wrong.

In her hand was a dagger. Lying at her feet was the body of a huntsman. And upon her snow-white skin was the dark-red stain of blood.

She cried out hysterically, “Do not come a step closer!”

The huntsman. Slashed across the neck. Stabbed in the heart. Fresh crimson poured from his still-warm body.

The Woodcutter held out his hands as a sign of peace to the terrified princess.

“I know you! I know you, Huntsman! Come to cut out my heart and deliver it in a box to the Queen,” she screamed.

He saw the glamour on the blade.

He softened his voice. “I am but a humble woodcutter, not a huntsman.”

Her trembling hand lowered a fraction of an inch.

“I was drawn by your cries,” he said.

She wiped away a tear, leaving a streak of red across her cheek.

“I mean you no harm.”

She gulped. Then hiccupped.

“You seem to have some trouble here.”

Her voice wavered. “He tried to kill me.”

The Woodcutter nodded as he glanced over her body from head to toe. She was marked purple and blue by bruises and scrapes. Huntsmen were supposed to be moved by pity to leave young girls untouched in the Wood. Her innocence lost, she would no longer be able to converse with the animals that would have protected her.

The Queen’s power was growing. The story was being changed—the girl in the glass shoes, the Small One with the red cape, now the Princess of the Sixth Kingdom herself.

The trees seemed to cry.

“Come with me,” the Woodcutter murmured.

She raised the knife in panic.

He continued to hold out his hands, speaking to her gently. “The blade you hold has been spelled.”

She seemed to be listening, but he could see her pulse pounding in her throat.

“It will turn your hand against yourself if it does not cause death again soon. If you put it on the ground, I can help you. There is a cottage nearby that I can take you to, a cottage where you will be safe…”

His voice repeated the instructions over and over. He allowed just a little bit of magic to whisper into the words. Snow White’s lids began to drift closed. Her fingers relaxed and the blade slipped.

He had her in his arms before she could fall.

As the knife sped toward the earth, it spun and impaled itself hilt first into the ground. Its bewitched blade stared up at him hungrily, like a baby bird begging for food.

“You are a nasty one,” he said to the knife.

He knew it was not his imagination that a shadow winked back at him along the metal’s sharp edge.

He carried the Princess to the safety of a tree and leaned her against its strong trunk. The tree shifted its branches to cradle her reclining form.

The Woodcutter unsheathed the Silver Ax and walked toward the knife.

The energy seemed to sizzle as the two objects sized each other up. He felt the Ax tremble in his hand with excitement, a guard dog being held back from attack.

He swung the Ax above his head and struck the tip of the knife true.

A thunderclap sounded as storm clouds darkened the sky.

He gritted his teeth as the Ax powered its way through. He heard the knife scream. Its wild magic was no match for the elemental powers contained in the Ax.

The wind whipped around him.

The Ax continued its work, cutting through the knife from point to hilt, fueled only by the authority of the Woodcutter.

A lightning bolt struck the Ax, and the knife disappeared in its flash of blinding white light. The Ax dissolved into water.

But the storm did not break as it should have. Instead, the wind cried, RUN!

The Woodcutter threw Snow White over his shoulder and raced into the day as dark as night.

The Beast raised his nose.

His blind eyes shone silver in the darkness.

He chuffed the cold air, coating his mouth with the taste of the wild, untamed magic calling him to the hunt.

He howled at the trees, howled at them as they screamed warning to his prey.

The Woodcutter stopped. He did not breathe. He covered the Princess’s mouth with his hand. The trees whispered, Quietly! Quietly! as they lowered their branches to hide him.

A wind roared past, and he knew it held the creature he sought.

But he waited. He waited with the Princess until the night lifted and the day returned to its proper hour. He waited until the voices of the trees returned to their gentle sigh.

Then he gathered up the Princess in his arms, leaning her head against his shoulder, and continued walking.