Hunt- Red Riding Hood Retold Read online

  Even as she hesitated, the basket flared up fully, flames licking at the curtains.

  Rosa's weary mind was slow to make sense of it all. Her family was dead, some giant wolf had killed them, and now her home was on fire.

  Her home was on fire. And filling with smoke.

  If she didn't want to join them in death, she had to get out. Now.

  Coughing, Rosa staggered for the door, pausing only to grab the poker. If the wolf waited for her outside, she'd take the bastard with her to hell for this.

  But outside there was nothing but clean snow, with no sign of the beast, or anyone else, either.

  "Fire!" she coughed out, hoping someone would hear her. "Fire! Help!"

  Doors began to open along the street, spilling light out onto the snow.

  But it was too late. By the time the sun rose the next day, all that remained of her family home was a burned out shell, where her family had breathed their last.

  The other villagers headed home, to breakfast and all the normal things they did every day.

  Rosa knelt in the ashes and swore an oath of vengeance. The beast would die at her hand for what he'd stolen from her.

  Six

  "Your Majesties, may I present to you, the renowned knight from far off lands, the hero of countless battles, the mighty Sir Chase!" the herald bellowed.

  Glad his helmet hid his grin at such flowery exaggeration, Chase strode into the hall. His stupid armour turned his usually smooth stride into more of a stiff march, but no one seemed to notice his discomfort. Instead, all they seemed to want to stare, wide-eyed, as though they'd never seen a man in armour before.

  The king – Erik, Chase reminded himself – rose and announced, "On the morrow, we shall hold a tourney so that you may all test your skills against such a legendary hero – "

  Whatever else he said was drowned out by cheers and toasts to the king's health as the hall erupted on either side of Chase.

  When Chase finally reached the dais where the king sat, instinct told him to kneel, but he could not – his benighted armour wouldn't let him.

  "Fool," the queen muttered, as if reading his thoughts.

  Chase whipped off his helm.

  A gasp drew his eye from the queen to a girl – a princess, perhaps? – further along the high table. She blushed. Definitely a princess, ripe for marriage to some rival kingdom. Before some handsome knight stole her heart and her virtue, too.

  But seducing princesses would have to wait until his place here was assured. Chase bowed from the waist, praying his armour would not slice him in two.

  "Your Majesty King Erik," he said. "I am honoured by your hospitality. I wish only to serve."

  He knew he should reach for his sword and lay it at the king's feet as he knelt, but even if he could reach his sword, kneeling was beyond him. He thought quickly.

  "I eagerly await tomorrow's tourney, for what better way to show a man's fighting prowess? Yet there is more to a knight than his sword," he continued.

  The princess blushed redder than ever. Perhaps she knew more of such things than a maiden should.

  Then the queen laughed.

  And he could think of nothing but her. A hush fell over the hall, as it seemed every man there shared his thoughts.

  Her mocking smile made him wonder once more if the queen could indeed read minds. "Pray continue, Sir Knight."

  "As you wish, most beautiful queen." He wet his lips. Abraham had been the one with a way with words, especially when it came to women. He racked his brain for something that would impress the queen. "A true hero must keep his wits as sharp as his blade. His honour must shine as bright as his armour, and never be allowed to tarnish." Chase glimpsed a fly out of the corner of his eye, flicked away by the princess's impatient hand, and inspiration struck. He continued with more confidence: "So that if his liege or his lady is plagued by the most enormous monster or the tiniest gnat, he can dispatch it forthwith."

  He turned to face the princess.

  "Allow me, Your Majesty," he said.

  He reached behind him for his bow, notched an arrow to the string and let it fly. His arrow lodged in one of the tapestries high above the princess's head, missing the fly completely. Not that anyone would know for sure without climbing the wall to examine his arrow.

  Stupid armour.

  He had the princess's attention for certain now. But he needed the queen to be equally impressed.

  A fly circled the queen's head.

  Chase drew another arrow. He'd only have one shot at this, and his aim had to be perfect. He breathed out and loosed.

  His arrow arced up over the queen's head before embedding itself in the wax encrusting a lit candelabra at the back of the dais. The candles wobbled for a moment, but thankfully did not fall.

  The fly, still unharmed, flew toward the princess, whose eyes met his. If the queen was a mindreader, so was her daughter. And the daughter knew he'd missed the fly twice.

  He winked at her and said, "Fear not, young maiden. A knight's duty is to save every lady, not just the queen."

  Chase reached for a third arrow.

  The fly buzzed back toward the queen.

  Chase released the arrow, just as the queen flicked her fingers to shoo the fly away.

  His heart leaped into his throat. By all that was holy, please, no.

  Queen Margareta leaped to her feet. "Guards!"

  A thin line of blood trickled down the queen's fingers to where the arrow had lodged in the table before her. As if taunting him for his poorly timed shot, a shimmery wing was all that remained of the fly, now squashed under the weight of his arrow.

  Chase didn't feel the guards seizing his arms – his armour was too thick for that – until the men started to drag him back, out of the hall.

  No. This was all wrong. He was supposed to impress the queen, not shoot her.

  "Your Majesty, I meant...I meant to rid you of a pest, not..." He was mortified to hear the weakness in his voice. Begging.

  "Silence!" Queen Margareta thundered.

  Chase had never been more relieved to obey a woman's command.

  At her side, King Erik rose. "Anyone who seeks to harm my queen commits treason. Such a heinous crime is punishable by death."

  No. He hadn't. He'd wanted to impress her, help her, not harm her. He'd never harm a woman. Never. Why, when his own sister lay dying, begging him to leave her to find her husband, to bring him home, Chase had not been able to release her hand. He'd learned archery so he could defend her. Like he wanted to serve this queen. Not…

  "He's telling the truth!" The high, clear voice could only belong to the young princess. She stood eye to eye with the queen over the head of the woman who sat between them. Her nurse, Chase presumed, for the woman was trying to make the princess sit down, but the girl was having none of it. "He shot a fly. Look!" The princess pointed.

  A silent battle raged between mother and daughter.

  Chase's own life rested on the outcome, he knew, but he couldn't think through his fascination at these two compelling women. The queen was formidable, but the princess did not fear her.

  Whoever the girl married…he'd better not rule a rival kingdom, for that would mean war.

  Somehow, the queen's eyes had moved back to Chase. Her voice was quiet but deadly. "Get out. This once, you may leave with your life. Set foot in this kingdom again and you will not be so lucky."

  The princess had won, but he did not dare risk a glance of thanks in her direction, lest the queen change her mind.

  He bowed, then fled, leaving his hopes in tatters on the flagstone floor.

  Seven

  "There she goes! The witch! She murdered her family one Midwinter and drank their blood with the devil and that's where she gets her powers from. Don't look her in the eye or you'll be next!"

  Children shrieked and ran. All but one – a boy of perhaps nine or ten years, who dared to look her in the eye.

  "Witch!" he taunted, even as he ignored his own warnin
g.

  Rosa gritted her teeth, hefting her bag higher on her shoulder, and said nothing.

  It would be so easy to summon a gust of wind to lift the boy off his feet and deposit him at the top of the nearest tree, or on the roof of his equally ignorant parents' cottage, but she would not use her power for something so petty.

  But surely no one would blame her for closing her eyes for just a moment and imagining the boy's panicked screams as he sat in that tree or thatch, before he begged for her help in getting him down.

  The whole village might hate her, taunt her, and whisper rumours that only children dared repeat in her hearing, but when they needed help, they would still come to the cottage, hat in hand, and she would give it.

  Her grandmother's cottage in the woods, since the night her parents' home had burned, but it was the best place for her now.

  For in the forest's isolation, she did not have to listen to the taunts every day.

  "Ah, there you are! Are the boots as pretty as the Baron promised?" Grandmother asked, climbing laboriously to her feet and brushing the dirt from her skirt. She lived in the garden most days, talking more to her plants than she did to Rosa.

  Rosa's heart sank. "I'm sorry, Grandmother, I forgot the boots. I was talking to Alard, who needs another of your elixirs, and I was so lost in thought when I left the Great House…"

  Grandmother's eyes were sharp, seeing into Rosa's very soul. "Is that boy of the Baron's begetting more bastards? Who is it this time?"

  Rosa sighed. "Piroska, who else? It seems he cannot help himself around her."

  Grandmother snorted. "Oh, I think he helps himself all to readily, and that's the problem. He should marry the girl and be done with it. Not like anyone better will have him."

  Did Rosa imagine it, or did Grandmother's eyes dart toward her as she said that? "The problem is that Alard still hopes, Grandmother. No matter what I say…he is adamant that the best baroness should be a skilled healer."

  "Then I shall go into town to fetch my boots myself on the morrow, and have a word with the boy while I'm at it. The best baroness is one who'll give him babies, and Piroska's as fertile as they come. His father's not getting any younger, after all." Grandmother led the way into the house, holding the door open for Rosa.

  Rosa followed her in, and thumped her sack on the table. "I remembered your honey, though. Now we should have enough to start a new batch of mead. I'll make a start on it on the morrow, when you go into town."

  "You're not coming with me?"

  More than ever, Grandmother's eyes seemed to read Rosa's soul.

  "You're not in love with that silly boy, are you?"

  Rosa shook her head. "No! Alard is…perhaps the only friend I have in town, that's all. Everyone else hates me, calling me a witch and saying I murdered my parents."

  "You are a witch. Their witch." When Grandmother said it, it sounded like an honourable occupation, instead of an insult.

  "No, that's you, Grandmother. You cure their ills. I just deliver things, and collect the payment."

  Grandmother waved away her doubts. "I do nothing that you cannot. And while my magic is waning, yours grows stronger every day. Why, with a wave of your hand, you could clear the whole village of tonight's snowfall. They'd pay attention to you then!"

  "They'd still call me a witch, only louder," Rosa grumbled, before her grandmother's words sank in. "Wait…snow? It has not snowed here since the winter my parents died! That was the coldest winter in living memory, you said, the sort that we won't see again for a hundred years. It's only been six!"

  "The weather does not count the years. It merely is. And I fear this winter will be colder than any we have yet known. I think we have waited long enough. The snow is a sign from the gods, that it is time I initiated a new priestess. Will you be ready for the Midwinter rites?"

  With Grandmother's eyes reading her very soul, Rosa could not lie. "No. I had thought to ask Alard, but now…I cannot imagine any man in the village I would want to share the ceremony with."

  Grandmother patted her hand. "If the gods want you for their priestess, they will provide. Who knows? Perhaps the folktales your mother loved so much will come true, and a knight will come riding into town in pursuit of some noble quest. No man could fail to notice you."

  Yes, notice her and label her a witch, his voice full of venom as he spat the words. Yet, "Yes, Grandmother," was all Rosa said.

  "It's settled, then. At Midwinter, you will pledge yourself fully to the goddess, as her priestess. The snow will come, and we must guard against it as best we can." Grandmother clapped her hands. "Which is why I need new boots. You don't feel the cold as I do, but when you are my age, you'll know!"

  Rosa nodded numbly. Snow brought the wolves down from the mountains. Perhaps she would have her chance at vengeance this winter. If she killed the wolf who'd killed her family, then the men of the village might look on her with admiration instead. She only needed one who was willing to worship the goddess…but she had little hope of even one as things stood now. Once she'd slayed the beast, though…

  There was no doubt in her mind that she could kill the wolf. It was merely a matter of how, and when.

  As an untrained girl, she'd sent the wolf running all those years ago. Now, with her magic completely under her command, he'd be no match for her.

  Eight

  The village inn tempted Chase more than he liked to admit. He'd spent so many nights sleeping under hedges, as summer gave way to autumn and the infernal rain that never ceased, that the very thought of a night in a real bed, perhaps even a few hours seated before a fire, made his knees weak.

  He counted his coins. He had enough for a hot meal or two and a bed, as long as it wasn't their best room. Abraham would have laughed at him, counting coppers like this. Then again, Abraham would have turned them to gold at a touch.

  But Abraham was lost to him, and this was his life now. So Chase surrendered what remained of his wealth to the innkeeper and asked if the man knew of anyone in need of a knight.

  The innkeeper scratched his head. "Don't know anyone who can afford to keep a knight, except for the king himself, and I'm sure he doesn't need any more. Not like we're at war with anyone right now. But if you're fixing to make a name for yourself so the king might hire you, you might try your hand at monster slaying."

  "Monsters don't exist," Chase said.

  The innkeeper's pitying look took him by surprise. "Then you're the only man who hasn't heard of the cursed wolf of the north, or the Kasmirus dragon."

  Chase shook his head. "Indeed I haven't. Perhaps you could pour me an ale and tell me the story?"

  "I'll do you one better. Go speak to the crier, sent out to search for a dragonslayer. He's seen the dragon himself." The innkeeper pointed at a boy not much younger than Chase, unrolling a scroll on the table.

  Fighting a beast might be better than killing another man, enemy or no, Chase told himself. He'd seen enough death.

  He turned his head to better read the boy's poster.

  Heroes wanted, the poster read, for monster slaying of all kinds. Apply within.

  Not that he was much of a hero, whatever the herald in Aros had said. Monster slaying might help him earn both his keep and a real reputation. It would at least keep his thoughts from straying to Abraham and Maja a dozen times a day.

  Chase raised his voice. "Are you looking for a hero, boy?"

  The boy looked up. He looked…resigned, Chase thought. As if to emphasise his point, the boy sighed.

  Chase pulled the poster toward him. He tapped the crudely drawn dragon. "Where's the dragon and what's the reward?"

  "Kasmirus, between the city and the river," the boy said. He didn't show a trace of fear. Interesting. Either the beast wasn't so fearsome, or the boy hadn't actually seen it. "But I don't know the reward. Every time it kills another knight, the king increases it."

  A dragon that could kill many knights was definitely fearsome.

  "How big is the beast, and
does it breathe fire?" Chase persisted.

  Now the boy showed the first hint of fear, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. "It would scarcely fit in the square outside, and its fiery breath is so hot, it has been known to melt a man's armour." He shuddered.

  He'd seen this melting in person. Yet he'd survived. By running or hiding, or both, Chase decided. This boy was no dragon slayer.

  A fire breathing monster who melted armour and had killed many knights. Such a beast would take a true hero to slay it – the sort of brave, foolhardy man who would undertake a quest for the sheer glory of it. Chase was too sensible a man for such things.

  Chase lifted his hand and the scroll rolled up. "Which means it's impossible to kill."

  He resolved to ask the innkeeper about the wolf. That wouldn't be an impossible task.

  "Not impossible," the boy countered. "All creatures must die some time."

  Chase stared at the boy. There was a steel to him, that his youth had hidden until now. The boy himself might not slay the dragon, but he was determined to recruit the man who could do the deed. Perhaps he'd known one of the slayed knights, a father or mentor, perhaps. He had a personal grudge against this dragon, but wasn't silly enough to fight it alone and die unmourned.

  Chase grinned. "Even us. But there's nothing heroic about being roasted alive. I'm Sir Chase." He held out his hand.

  "George," the boy said, clasping Chase's arm briefly before letting go.

  Chase gestured to the innkeeper. "Two more ales for me and my friend here!" When the innkeeper nodded, Chase turned back to George. "Where are you headed?"

  "Aros," George said.

  Chase swallowed. From the maw of a fire breathing dragon to the court of Aros' icy queen? He had to warn him. "Not a good city for heroes, Aros," he managed to say. "Their queen isn't fond of adventurers." He suppressed a shudder as he took a cup of ale from the innkeeper.

  George raised his eyebrows. "That's not what I heard. When they hold tourneys, the queen richly rewards the victor. She holds heroes in high regard, or so it is said." George drank deeply.