The Woodcutter by Kate Danley; © Lolloj / Fotolia Page B
Authors: Kate Danley; © Lolloj / Fotolia
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my friend. Know that my ax has never been tainted by unwilling sap and so it shall always be.”
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
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
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