Chapter X: In the forest

Spirit of the forest
Copyright © Jeffrey K. Bedrick 1995.
Used with permission.

The following days were quite quiet, except that Beauty was growing more and more anxious. I had the painful impression we were back at the beginning: she started at the least noise, smiled at me with a constraint smile. It saddened me and, as I wasn't a fool enough to suffer more than necessary, I sheltered in my room or in the gardens when I was sure she was elsewhere. I was intrigued by a rose tree in the middle of all the others, in the place where Beauty usually sat when playing the storyteller. This rose tree was quite high, higher than all the others in fact, covered with leaves, but with no flower, even not a small rosebud. Yet Beauty was giving it all her care, using all her powers of a green witch.
When she was in the gardens, I was in my room, my mirror focused on her, but I didn't need to look at it anymore: I heard every word she thought and so, I knew where she was and what she was doing. Her look was almost painful to me, for it reminded me each time I was doomed to let her go sooner or later. Sometimes I thought it'd have been better to let her go the soonest, so this torture would finally end, but I was too coward to do so. At least, even if I suffered when I saw her, I could still see her, could talk with her, could protect her. Some other times, I thought that perhaps, I would die in her arms and I felt almost happy with this thought. Then she would be free to go wherever she wanted and I was sure that Sevulf, Stoat and the others - Geolf probably too - would do everything in their power to protect her.
I was reading my favourite books once again. I was in a melancholic mood and I thought that everything was dull. Romeo and Juliet, that I liked so much, was suddenly insipid. Juliet was the only kind character, with the priest, except that Juliet was far too naive. Romeo was an inconstant, Tybalt and Mercutio fools and the others weren't better. Better for Romeo and Juliet to have killed themselves as their love was so new, for it wouldn't have last for long, if we considered the example of Romeo's love for Rosalind, I thought fiercely. The only one I felt sorry for was Juliet, poor and innocent child taken in love's nets.
Disgusted by Shakespeare, I put back the book and took Tennyson. The Lady of Shalott was still so sad, as was Lancelot and Elaine. I wasn't in the mood to read stories where young ladies died because of a handsome and brave knight. I reminded me that, if Beauty was as beautiful as Elaine or the Lady of Shalott, I wasn't at all like Lancelot, even if Beauty called me her knight in shining armour. Nothing will die only brought a bitter laugh to my lips; All things will die was more in my mood but I didn't want to revel in death's thoughts.
A bit more depressed, I took Keats. I knew at once it was a bad choice. Isabella or the Pot of Basil could do nothing to send away my dark thoughts, nor La belle dame sans merci. Even if I knew it, I read them both however, for they were my favourites and, at least, it was somehow a pain I could control, since I was the one inflicting it to myself. I was the only one to blame for this pain, when I had to accept it helplessly from the others.
Finally I opened Byron. Lara, Conrad, Manfred and the Giaour were of my favourite characters, dark men haunted by some mysteries, losing their redemption with the woman they loved - except for Lara, whose case was a bit different. I was struck by the resemblance there was between them and me: my redemption was a woman too, even if Beauty was still only a child, whom I loved - but who didn't love me, at the contrary of Medora, Astarte and Leila. I just hoped I wasn't doing to Beauty what Manfred did to Astarte: destroying her.
Sighing, I pushed away all my books and stood up. I went for a walk in the castle, this time without playing with the corridors. Beauty was in the library, reading Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, so I was sure not to find her on my way. Walking where my feet led me, I wasn't paying attention to where I was. Sometimes, I noticed a tapestry with fading colours, using mechanically my magical powers to restore them, or some portraits where the varnish was becoming crackled, which I was restoring at once. I was quite surprised by this carelessness in my castle. Normally, Stoat or one of the racoon sisters would have see to it that everything was perfect.
Then I suddenly froze for I recognised the corridor where I was and I understood immediately why Stoat, Fiona or Gilla hadn't cared for the portraits and tapestries: I was in the gallery where was the room with the fateful clock. I walked to this accursed door as if I was in a dream and I stopped before pushing it. My paw was still on the handle but I didn't move it. I was fighting the urge to enter and look at the clock, to see how much time was left. I took a deep breath and turned the handle, opening the door. I looked lengthily at the darkness, wondering if I would dare to enter. The light of the sun entered parsimoniously in the room by the corridor, just enough to allow me to see the clock without seeing the dial.
I was ready for another step toward my doom where I heard a discreet cough in my back. I looked back and here they were, all of them, Sevulf, Stoat, Fiona, Gilla, Maguy, Weaverbird and even Geolf and Eponerius.
"It wouldn't be wise, master," said Sevulf gently. "You don't need to keep the wound open."
Maguy came next to me and dragged me off, closing the door behind her. I tried to resist a bit, but Maguy's grip was tight on my wrist and I even felt her cat's claws on my skin.
"I have the right to know," I said. "It's my fate, my death - or life - that stands in there."
"Yes, master, but if your time is too short, you will lose all courage and leave our little Beauty on her own. And if your time is too long, you will think that you can find another girl if there's the least problem with Beauty," explained Stoat. "Now, Beauty is probably the one to be able to free you. She knows about the curse, she had seen you and doesn't fear you. And she half-knows how to break the curse."
"I won't change my mind, even if I have only two minutes left!" I protested. "But I want to know. This clock is mine. You will be free whatever happens to me, so how can you interfere?"
"You're insulting us, master," said Fiona with a hurt dignity.
"It wasn't what I intended to do, Fiona..."
"We know that, little one," intervened Stoat, "but that's what you did. How can you ever think that we would be happy, even if human again, without you? We chose our fate in all consciousness, whereas you had to undergo yours. I don't want to live, if it means to live without you. Maybe I don't love you as our Beauty does, but I do love you as if you were my own son."
Stoat was the one to have brought me up and I knew the only man she had ever loved had died at war, long ago. I was the son she would never have and I certainly belonged more to her than to my own mother. So, sometimes, she called me 'little one' instead of 'master' as she usually did.
One by one, my faithful people agreed with Stoat. In their eyes I read only joy and pride for the sacrifice they accepted for me, knowing well that this devotion would only bring death to them. I felt ashamed and, at the same time, terribly proud of them. No other lord could say to have such devoted servants and, for that, I was the richest of them all.
"Come with us, master," said gently Maguy, putting her paw on my arm.
I let them lead me as if I was a child and with them, I went into the music chamber. Seeing this room awaked lots of memories. This lounge was the same as in my parents' house, with the grand piano and the harp. Maguy coaxed me to sit in an armchair and most of them moved to take an instrument.
Even if they were playing almost every role in my castle, now that there weren't enough people to do the work in their place, my servants were not servants of the last class. My father had the strangest ideas about the servants: he wanted them to all have a musical training and, if possible, a vocal training too.
Sevulf, my father's butler, was in the family since before my birth and he knew perfectly how to play violin, even if I was totally unable to imagine how he could play now with his wolf's paws. Stoat, the housekeeper, had become a widow the day of my first birthday and her own mother was already the housekeeper of my family. She was used to play harp with a marvellous delicacy.
Maguy was the equivalent of a lady-in-waiting for my mother. Not quite that, but almost. Firm, but always kind, even-minded, she was always busy as a little bee and, when my mother suffered of headaches or some other illness, Maguy was ready to play softly piano, harpsichord or even organ, whatever my mother desired to hear.
Gilla and Fiona, the two sisters, were chambermaids, diligent and efficient. They chose the flute for their favourite instrument and they were able to play nice duets in a way quite surprising. Sometimes, when my mother wanted to hear some music - and when she hadn't a headache - Gilla, Fiona and Maguy would play a beautiful trio.
Eponerius, as strange as it could sound, was a player of oboe, even if he was more used to the stables and the horses. He had trained the racehorses of my father, taking great care of them, and the race stables of my family were quite renowned in the time I met Rose Line. He had a beckoning way to play and the oboe always sounded like weeping when in Eponerius' hands.
Weaverbird had a name appropriate to his former work. He was the weaver of the family and most of the tapestries in my castle came out from his hands. He was totally unable to play any instrument, but sang beautifully while weaving. Pure marvels came to life under his nimble fingers and he was able to catch life appearence in his tapestries, representing the gods of old Greece as well as a wild hunt in a forest.
Last, but not least, was Geolf. My cook was the only one not gifted with music and he was very ashamed of it. Most of the time, the others would try to make him forget his shame, but it didn't always work. Shy, almost unsociable, Geolf sheltered often in his kitchens, where he was the master. He tried to forget what he considered as his failure by cooking delectable meals that would have made me forgive him instantly not to be gifted by music - if I had held it as a grudge against him. Nobody could live with music only.
So my faithful people, to divert my thoughts from the clock in the dark room, decided to play a little piece. As usual, Geolf sheltered in a corner, not willing to leave the place since he knew the music was beautiful, but not willing either to stay in front of everybody, doing nothing. Weaverbird landed next to me. His new form didn't allow him to sing anymore, since his lungs were too small for what he was used to and it was one of his greatest regrets.
Buried in my large armchair, I listened to them, enraptured. Except that I missed something. In my head, I heard another voice singing, a melody that didn't sound at all like the one I was hearing. Beauty was still haunting me. I tried to imagine her, curled up in an armchair in the library, reading - or more probably, devouring - Twelfth night. This one was one of my favourite plays and I was sure Beauty would like it. It was more classical than A midsummer night's dream and, in our situation, I thought it was preferable not to speak too much about fairies.
I looked at my musicians again. I still marvelled how Sevulf could play so well the violin with his clumsy paws of his. I was less surprised by Stoat's ability, since she was still half-human, even if her hands - or what were now her hands - were the ones of an arctic fox. The music, though beautiful, was quite sad, as though my musicians couldn't bring themselves to play a merry tune and it did nothing to brighten my already dark mood. I stood up from my seat and left the room without a word. I was sure to have hurt my people, but I couldn't help it: I needed to walk, to do something to divert my thoughts from their dark ideas.

I felt the light joy of Beauty when the duke Orsino finally acknowledged his love for Viola. She was at the end of the play, so she would probably go into the gardens after that, for she needed fresh air as I needed the shadows. She didn't go for a ride with Eponerius as often as she had been used to and I suspected it was because of the curiosity of my servants. I hurried to my rooms where I collapsed into my favourite armchair. I wasn't of any good today. These two last nights with their dreams so vivid and so hurting had destroyed the last hope I had clung to.
With a gloomy look in the eyes, I watched my mirror lighting up to the corridor where Beauty was walking. She was daydreaming, as most of the time.
"Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times
 Thou never shouldst love woman like to me." she said with a faraway look. "God, how lovely these lines are! I was a boy as Viola was, but I hadn't the same end..."
She smiled sadly and added softly:
"But the fault is mine... 'Will you marry me, Beauty, willingly, with all the love you would have felt for a human husband?' He asked me! He actually asked me! And I did nothing but refuse! I'm such a fool... But even tied up to the neck, threatened with death, I would still have said no! And again and again... Even if I hurt him as much as I'm hurting myself each time I say this word to him... O Shuqra! Help me, I don't know anymore!"
I was almost ashamed to hear such words, but it wouldn't do any good to turn my mirror down, since even if I didn't see Beauty, I was able to hear her words. Nothing could prevent me from hearing her inner thoughts. I would have closed my ears, my eyes, even making me deaf to avoid such a thing but I couldn't. Each time I heard her voice, it was music in my heart and not hearing it anymore was worse than death itself.
I sighed and turned my mirror down. Even if it didn't show me all the time what I wanted to see - sometimes it preferred to show what it wanted me to see - this time, it humoured me and went dark. I lowered the head and my eyes fell on my awful paws, these hated and clumsy paws. I gritted my teeth and tried to think to something else.
"Paper!" I said with a roar.
White-cream paper appeared on the desk in front of me. I was planning to write by the only power of my mind, as I already did for those polished bronze plaques with the names of all the girls who came in the castle. It was a very difficult exercise, but at least, it would occupy my mind long enough to forget all these silly thoughts. I stared at the blank paper. It was all well and good to want to write something, but I hadn't the faintest idea of a subject.
"Perhaps you should try this: 'Dear Beauty, I love you and I would rather die than live without you. Only my cowardice prevents me to tell you so face to face...'" said the well-known voice of Raynal.
"Of course," I said, rather sarcastically. "And then I shall write: 'I know I'm not worthy of you, but I'm sure I'd be a perfect husband for you. I'm a bit hairy, but I'd do my best to make you happy, despite of the fact I'm bad-tempered and I will not touch you if you don't want me to.' Do you have other silly suggestions?"
"Lots. Why are you so angry again?" sighed Raynal while sitting down.
"Why me?"
"God! You didn't change your favourite question, I see. You already asked me this a thousand times. I don't know."
"I thought that, now you're dead, you could have had the power of a soothsayer. I only said no to someone. And just because this someone happened to be a fairy's goddaughter, I'm doomed and I condemned eight other people with me!"
"Nine. You're forgetting Beauty. Or me."
"No, I'm not forgetting Beauty, but she won't be condemned for a long time. Hell! I wasn't guilty of anything else but one too many no!"
"You always liked too much that word. God," he added when I threw him a dark glance, "you don't need to be guilty to be condemned or cursed. Did you think so?"
"Yes," I muttered under my breath.
"I don't believe it," said Raynal shaking sadly the head. "You're still as naive as you were when you were a small boy, long ago."
"How long ago?" I asked, hoping to have from Raynal what my servants denied me.
But alas! As if she had heard me ask the question, Stoat entered the room.
"You're not reasonable, Master," she said calmly. "I do know the hour and that's enough. I will be the only person to suffer from time passing by."
I thought bitterly of Beauty's words, saying that, somehow, uncertainty was better than certainty, because it left hope alive.
"It's my curse, Stoat. I should be the one knowing the hour, not you. Tell me this hour."
"No. I already explained to you why I won't."
"Stoat, I love Beauty. I have only one heart, I can't give it twice."
"That's why you loved Katherine and Beauty," said Raynal ironically.
"I never said I loved Katherine, while I confessed my love for Beauty."
"You suffer already enough like that, little one," intervened Stoat. "Let me take a bit of your burden on my shoulders. And Raynal..." she added, turning to my cousin. "I think your presence is worse for him. I'm sorry to be the one to say that to you, but it would be better if you leave."
Raynal nodded and disappeared. Stoat put her hands on my furry cheeks.
"Child, try to think to something else. I know it's hard, but try it anyhow!"
She saw the white-cream sheets of paper on my desk.
"Why don't you try to write some poetry? You were good with words when young and I saw you read again your Tennyson, Byron and Keats."
"Good idea, Stoat," I answered, trying to sound enthusiastic - which I was not.
She had a forced smile and left the room. I couldn't help to think that, if she was so sad, it was because of the hour on the accursed dial. Again, I stared at the blank paper. If Tennyson and Keats had portrayed cursed maiden, I could do cursed men; it would be a bit like Byron, but it didn't matter. By mind, I wrote 'The Transformation' and then, stopped dead. Well, at least, I had the title. That was a beginning, I said to myself rather ironically. Then, furiously, I wrote, with this beautiful handwriting I managed to create:

One of the - many - advantages of being such a powerful Beast was that nobody - animal or human - would care to be in my way when I was angered. And this time was no exception. Even Sevulf and Stoat, who usually were the ones trying to calm me down, stayed out of my way when I walked at a run in front of them, jaws tightly clenched and fists clenched too. No need to say that my eyes were blazing with a wild fury.
Another advantage was that I was though, resistant to tiredness, so I could run for a long time at a sustained rhythm. I didn't even ask Eponerius to take me to the forest, for I knew I could go almost as fast as he could. I had seen him in the music chamber, with the others and I understood at once that Beauty was all alone in the forest and probably in danger. My fear gave me wings, even if I hadn't the faintest idea where to begin to look for her.
The forest was near the mountains that attracted Beauty so much and in the back of my mind, a tiny voice repeated endlessly, in an underhand way, that she had probably tried to flee from the castle and from us. I wouldn't believe it, but this little voice never let me in peace and worry was slowing my pace as much as the fear I had of the danger that threatened Beauty was helping me to go faster.
I reached the forest in a record time. I stopped a moment at the edge, looking for a track. Magic wouldn't be of great use for me in this enterprise, since my mirror already refused to show me where Beauty was. I found the trace of Beauty's light footsteps and I followed it at a quick trot.
Another scream startled me violently. Since I had left the castle, I hadn't heard it, so I thought that Beauty had found a shelter where she could be waiting safely for me to come. But it appeared that it wasn't the case. I better had to hurry! My heart tightened at the very idea to find a dead body in the place of my beloved Beauty. No! It wouldn't be! Even if I had to give my life, even if I had to call on all the gods, I would not allow death to take her away from me! All that had been done would have been useless if Beauty was to die.
My trot became a wild run and I was franticly calling her telepathically, receiving no answer. I stopped just a minute, looking up, not seeing the tops of the trees, but I saw an owl, which was flying over my head from my very first step in the forest.
"Who sent you?" I growled soundly in my throat.
The owl flapped once or twice its wings and flied a bit away, seeming to wait for me.
"I just hope you're here to lead me to Beauty!" I said to it, following it, since the path it showed me was the same marked by the footsteps' trace.
It was more difficult for me to follow the owl than the path, since I had to look up to see where it was and I couldn't see anymore the treacherous roots coming under my feet. I stumbled more than once over these roots or sometimes I walked on a thorny branch of a bush which was only waiting for me to come near so it could put its thorns under my feet, making me wince when the sharp thorn entered the sensible sole of my feet.
After a good walk - at a run, that is - the owl flapped again her wings, without moving, and suddenly disappeared. I didn't think too long on this disappearance, since my Beauty was here, in a tree, certainly wounded, for I could see drops of blood on the ground. And, turning around her tree, four enormous boars, trying sometimes the hardness of their tusks against the tree bark. Beauty was clinging to a big branch, her eyes wide with fear and she was so afraid she couldn't even scream.
The boars still hadn't seen me, so I took advantage of the situation and pounced on the nearest. It fell on the ground with a growl and sent a vicious kick of its hoofs in my stomach. I growled too before sending my clenched fist in its belly. I was rewarded by a new kick in the thigh this time. I wasn't known for my patience and my fist opened, claws outstretched, toward the boar's neck. The beast's growl died in a soft whimper and I could stand, almost safe, over its dead body.
Two boars were still around Beauty's tree, but the third boar was coming toward me and with a look none too gentle. I sighed internally; these beasts would not quit the place until I was finished - or them. I threw myself in attack, as I already did with the crystalline-foggy animals in the fairy's dream. I knew Beauty was watching me, but I couldn't help it, I was savagely struggling, not caring to look like a lady's saviour. I was a beast, a bigger beast than the ones I was fighting, but a beast anyway.
The last boar was a bit cleverer than the others: it left before I came to it. I went to Beauty's tree and she looked at me, unable to do the least move.
"Beauty?" I asked her softly.
She nodded, released her grip on her branch... and fell from the tree. I caught her in my arms, holding her tightly against me. But I remembered soon of her fear and I reluctantly set her free. I saw her eyes growing wider as she looked behind me; she tried to utter a word, lamely failed and held out a finger to point out something in my back. By the time I turned on my heels, the fourth boar's tusks struck violently my ribs.
The pain was sharp and the impact sent me on the ground, catching me off guard. The boar was at once on me, its tusks striking my ribs with the regularity of a hammer. At first, I remained on the ground, motionless, only feeling the growing pain in my ribs. Then, suddenly, I realised that the boar, fooled by my immobility, had moved to Beauty. I rolled on my right side, trying to overcome my pain, seeing through a red fog, while my little Beauty sheltered against the tree, too terrified to even scream or think to climb the tree once more. Gathering all my strength, I painfully rushed to the boar threatening Beauty.
The fight that followed was not a beautiful one. I dragged off the boar away from Beauty and this time, I didn't care to close my fist. I was using my powerful claws to get rid of the adversary, for I only wanted to lie down on my back and wait for the pain to fade away. The fight was not really fair: I was twice bigger than the boar, but I was badly injured and it was lost in its fury. We struggled like little boys, rolling on the ground, except that each of our blows was meant to be fatal.
The boar was really clever, for it never forgot that it had injured me in the ribs and it tried most of its time to send its hard hoofs in my already painful ribs. I swallowed back more than one howl of pain and clenched my teeth tight, seeing red. My stronger constitution got the better: I finally won but I was badly sore when I managed to stand up.
I came toward Beauty, head half-lowered, trying to forget that I had fought like a wild beast under her eyes, trying to forget that I was covered with blood. True, most of this blood was mine, but still, this fight had had nothing of a gentlemen's hunt. I managed to walk toward her without grimacing of pain and I didn't pay attention to the heavy drops of blood falling limply on the ground.
Beauty looked at me, had a dreamily smile for me and then, collapsed gracefully on the half-wet ground, small shape in the middle of four boars' dead bodies. I stumbled to reach her, managed to kneel next to her without collapsing too, gathered her in my arms and took the way back to home, trying to use her weight to balance me.