Debra L. Rollins - Revenge For the Huntsman

A faint light source threaded its way outward from under the cover of a patch of dense trees, urging Burly into investigate. He walked with a limp from where the old wolf had nipped him on the ankle back in the animal prison. Bruised, sore and tired, he was nearly asleep on his feet. The little nap back at the witch’s abode was not long enough…he was exhausted, not to mention very hungry.

As he drew in closer, he pulled Trolldust from his pouch, preparing for the possibility of an attack. He tried his best to walk without sound, but the dry, broken, tree limbs beneath his large form snapped loudly underfoot.

Dragon’s dung! he cursed silently. Couldn’t he do anything right? Maybe Dad was right in calling him an idiot. He certainly felt like a fool whenever he was around Cierce.

“Who’s there? Come…show yourself.”

A man’s voice called out from the inner circle of trees, beckoning the Troll inside. Burly held the soft granules of the pink magical dust in his fist, ready to throw it in the human’s face when he came close enough for a sure strike. He sniffed the air. The acrid smell of smoke mixed with the delicious, mouth-watering aroma of some kind of meat frying on a small grill set up over the fire. Fat sizzled and popped as it fell into the open pit below, sending the elderly man poking at the meat to lean back quickly, least he get burnt.

Burly let fly the Trolldust, missing the man by a good few inches. He stared, flabbergasted as his bad luck. There was very little dust left. He would just have to take the human down by force. The intense throbbing of his ankle took him by surprise as he stepped forward to reach for the man. He slid to his knees in pain.

“What’s the matter with you, Sonny?” the man asked, getting to his feet in order to help the extremely tall stranger before him. “You been hurt? You in pain?”

“Trolls do not admit to pain,” he growled at the human who now stood face to face with him. “I am…indisposed at the moment.”

The old man raised his eyebrows at his comment.

“Now, I don’t know what a “Troll” is…some sort of gang I suspect, but I do know when someone’s hurting. What’s ailing you? A gunshot wound? Someone stick you? Come on…out with it.”

Burly eyed the human suspiciously. A Troll never trusted anyone or anything, especially humans. This one looked as if he didn’t have two gold Wendells to rub together. His clothes were old and frayed, his shoes…though perhaps originally good leather…were now scuffed and dull.

His fingers itched, but he refrained from grabbing them off the old man’s feet in order to clean and polish them, to bring the rich leather back to life. How could he ever trust anyone who didn’t respect fine leather?

“I don’t know what a “gunshot” is,” replied Burly finally, deciding he had nothing to lose. “But I have been bit.”

He pulled up his pant leg, exposing a few deep holes left in his ankle by the old wolf’s nip. The old man whistled.

“That’s going to leave a scar I’m afraid. But don’t worry about infection…here, try putting some of this on the wound.”

He pulled out a fifth of Jack Daniels whisky and poured it liberally over the broken skin.

“By the way, I’m Jake,” he introduced himself as Burly grabbed at his ankle, cursing at the pain. Jake handed the bottle to him. “Here, take a swig. It will help take the edge off the sting.”

Burly grabbed the bottle, drinking down a mouthful of the fiery liquid. Jake watch with a grin as the stranger grabbed his throat and choked as the whisky ran a hot path to his stomach. Burly couldn’t speak or move for a minute or two. When the burning sensation passed, he realized he felt better. No, not better…a whole lot better. Even relaxed you might say. He grabbed up the bottle, inspecting the words written on the label. Whoever this “Jack Daniels” was, he made strong medicine.

“Makes pretty good medicine, eh?” Jake laughed. “What bit you, Sonny? Looks too large a bite for a dog.”

“It was a wolf,” Burly admitted, as he laid his head back against an old, rotting log, the soft wood cushioning his head.

“A wolf? The only wolves around here are at the old park zoo. Not much of anything else anymore, but the wolves, a few mangy bears and a petting zoo for the kiddies. The Bronx Zoo, now there’s a zoo for you. They got all kinds of animals there. By the way…what were you doing in the wolf exhibit?”

“Trying to make a shrew of a female I have to travel with see reason.”

“While in the wolf’s pen?”

“Well…yeah. Let’s just say she has a special affinity with wolves. She wasn’t hurt at all.”

“Reasoning didn’t work I take it?”

“No!” Burly felt his body totally relax as the whisky took deeper effect. Nicey-nice, he thought, even better than magic mushrooms. He took another swig of the potent drink.

“Whoa there, Sonny!” Jake took the bottle from Burly’s hands, took a large gulp himself and tucked it back into his pack. “Drink too much of that stuff and you’ll be aching from more than just your ankle in the morning.”

Burly grumbled but refrained from grabbing the bottle back from him. The old human seemed to know a lot about doctoring so he left well enough alone.

“So, you got women troubles, eh?” Jake chuckled, the whisky relaxing his own old, tired muscles. “I used to have a wife, a long time ago. Pretty, little thing too, but what a temper! Irish, you understand.”

Burly didn’t, but let the man ramble anyway. His voice was soothing.

“I learnt quickly not to stand in the way if something upset her, especially if the problem was with me. Many were the times I had a vase thrown at my head. Pulled no punches, the little spitfire.”

Burly tried to set up, couldn’t and fell back. He felt lethargic and pleasantly relaxed. The man’s story though, interested him, plus he didn’t want to fall asleep. He was still hungry and the meat sizzling on the fire tantalized him. He drooled hungrily.

“Did you punish her?” Burly asked, curious as to how humans handled their females.

“Punish her?” Jake laughed then hiccuped. “Hell, no! She would have kicked me out of the house if I had even lifted a finger to her. No…I did what most good old-fashioned American men do when their wives are ticked at them…I bought her candy and flowers, took her out on the town. Showed her a real good time.”

“That worked?”

“Are you kidding?” Jake leaned over and jabbed Burly in the side with his elbow. “Let’s just say, she would always forgive me real good.”

“Oh.” Burly looked at him, a blank stare on his face until the implications of the old man’s statement sunk into his brain. “OH! I get it!” He grinned widely as the man nodded his head and winked.

“Do flowers and a night out on the town always make females do what you want them to do?” he asked hopefully.

Jake leaned over the fire, stabbing at the meat. He pulled a couple chunks off the grill and offered Burly a piece skewed on a stick from the ground. The Troll ate ravenously, burning his mouth on the hot meat as he chewed. It filled the hole in his gut nicely.

“Doesn’t always work for all women all the time I suspect. They’re fickle that way. Just worked on my Nellie, God rest her soul. She died nine years back. I couldn’t stand the memories in that house, so I sold it and decided to see the country on foot, sleep where I can, eat where I can. Get to meet a lot of interesting folks along the way though…such as yourself. Nellie would have hated traveling like this, but for me…well, it’s helped me heal. Best thing for you to do is treat your gal nice and gentle. Bet she comes around to your way of thinking in no time. You know what I….”

A loud snore erupted from across the campfire.

Jake looked over at the tall, strangely dressed man and realized he had been talking to himself for the last few minutes. Burly was fast asleep.

Wolf and Virginia lay intertwined, exhausted but happily satisfied. He smoothed down the loose tendrils of Virginia’s hair that had mussed during their lovemaking, then kissed the top of her head gently. It was still hard to believe that she was well and truly in love with him. She looked so succulent after throwing off her old, ratty blue robe and baring her natural beauty to him. Once removed to their bedchamber, he could hardly contain himself in his desire. They had frolicked with wild abandon until they heard the thumping of a broom handle beating in frustration on the floor from the apartment below. Muffled oaths from the neighbor below sent them into a fit of giggles, which led to games, which led to more lovemaking.

Wolf shifted his body to look at the clock on the nearby nightstand; it’s numbers glowing eerily in the near darkness. Two-thirty-five in the early morning and he had not yet fallen asleep. He was at peace except for one small question.

“Wolf?”

“I thought you were asleep, my love.”

“I was half-asleep,” she grinned at his silhouette. “But your tail is tickling me again.”

“Oh-sorry,” he apologized. “I’m afraid it has a mind of its own sometimes. I wish I didn’t have one.”

“Don’t be sorry, Wolf. It’s a part of you that makes you…well, you. I wonder if our son will have one?”

“It’s quite possible. Would you mind so much?” he asked worriedly.

Virginia reached over him and switched on the little table light.

“Okay, out with it, Wolf.”

“Out with what?” He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the light.

“Don’t be silly…what’s bothering you? I’m beginning to be able to read your moods quite well.”

Wolf sat up, tucking his offending tail under him. He didn’t know where to start or how to ask, so he just blurted it out.

“Are you ashamed of me, Virginia?”

“Ashamed?” Virginia was dumbfounded. “Why do you…No! No, Wolf. Whatever made you think I am ashamed of you? I told you I love you. Don’t you believe me?”

“Ohhhh…huff-puff! Of course I believe you do! But I am a half-wolf, not one of your kind. You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell Tony that you were having my baby.”

He grabbed her hands, bringing them up to his lips and kissed them.

“I don’t blame you, Virginia. It’s one thing to marry a person totally different from yourself, quite another to have their child. A child is forever. You know how Tony feels about me being a wolf. Then there’s the jail thing, not to mention the fact that I still don’t know what will happen during my full moon cycle. So I figured that you were embarrassed of presenting to your father a half-breed grandchild. What if he has my “bad” genes?” The thought terrified Wolf more than he led her to believe.

“Oh, Wolf.” She smiled softly, cupping his cheek in her hand. “I talked to Dad tonight about the baby and you’ll be happy to know I’m not ashamed of us having a child together. I’m scared, that’s all, not because it’s your child either. Becoming a mother for the first time, especially since it was unplanned is scary...even with us getting married soon. I was going to talk to him when we got back to Wendell’s castle, but he and I were so busy with dignitaries and socials, there never seemed the perfect time and he never asked. I didn’t even think he knew about the baby until he brought it up tonight.”

“Oh, Virginia!” He crushed her to his chest in wholehearted relief. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that! I promise, wolf’s honor, never to doubt you again. Do you forgive me?”

Virginia laughed, playfully making a grab for his tail and tugged.

“I’ll forgive you if you promise to stop worrying about your tail. It’s soft and beautiful and I love it!” She stroked the downy fur to emphasize that she meant what she said. Wolf shuddered as tingles ran up and down his spine. For the first time in his life, he truly appreciated his tail.

Wendell sat glumly on his throne and sighed. The ball was over and everyone had left for his or her own homes. He was alone once more. The only interesting female in the whole of the ball had been Lady Lupine and she had simply disappeared into thin air along with her oafish cousin. Tony had not yet returned either and Wendell couldn’t help but wonder if Wolf had been found. He hoped so for Virginia’s sake. He had not trusted the half-wolf when he first made his acquaintance. Wolf had been nothing but a sheep murderer after all. Apparently the years he spent in the cell of the Snow White Memorial Prison taught him a hard lesson for he certainly had changed his colors. That and the love of a certain young woman, he thought. He smiled at the memories of Wolf and Virginia’s strained courtship. His smile turned to a sad frown. A least Wolf had a woman he loved to court in the first place. Now what was he going to do about finding a bride?

The sound of light footsteps gliding by the throne room caught his attention. Virginia’s maid came into view, striking a cord in his memory.

“You there, stop!”

The little maid halted in her tracks and looked over her shoulder as if unsure if the king meant someone else. No one else was in the hall, so she advanced towards him cautiously.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“The ballgown Miss Lewis wore the other night…where was it found?”

“Why, here in the castle, Sire,” she answered, worried at the line of questioning. “I didn’t steal it from one of the other guests, I assure you.”

“No, no…I did not think you had,” he said quickly, laying her fears to rest. “I am at a disadvantage, that is all. I seem to remember something about that gown which is special, but cannot for the life of me remember what it is. Can you show me where you found it? I promise, you will not get in trouble. You were just finding her a suitable gown, I understand.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Most assuredly I can show you.” She breathed a sigh of relief, then turned toward the door. “If you would come this way, please. I found a chest full of lovely old clothes and borrowed the gown for Miss Lewis to wear. It seemed to suit her.”

She led Wendell through a maze of corridors and into a wing of his castle he had not entered into for many years. Memories, both good and bad, flooded over him as he entered the suite of what was once his childhood nursery. The beautifully carved cradle and matching furniture had not moved in all these years, although servants had periodically came in to dust and wax, for the pieces gleamed with loving care. Toys lined the shelves, as did childish books and bobbles. A little table with matching chairs stood in the corner of the room by a window. On top was a set of tiny dishes, laying in wait for childish fingers to pick them up, eat and drink from them.

The maid did not stop in the room, but walked to the other side, opening a door there and motioning to Wendell to follow her inside. He found his feet had turned to lead, his breath quickening. He knew that room and what had lain beyond. He grew dizzy and stopped for a moment to still the spinning room. The maid came back to him and stood at his side, unsure if she should support him or not.

“Sire! What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

Wendell caught his breath, sucking air deep in his lungs. That seemed to do the trick for he began to feel much better after a moment. He paused but a minute longer, then walked to the doorway and stepped over the threshold, his eyes closed.

Seconds later, he opened them…his body jumping slightly, startled at the vision before him. It was an old portrait of the queen before she'd become his stepmother. Then she had been but his nursery maid. He searched the face in the painting. She had been beautiful indeed. Her hair was unbound, flowing over her breasts. Her lovely green gown emphasized the red of her hair and the beauty of her eyes. Virginia had inherited those beautiful, blue eyes, except there was something unsettling in the queen’s eyes, showing up even in the portrait. Madness.

Wendell turned to leave but a small mirror hanging by the door caught his attention. The reflection of another portrait from across the room halted him in his tracks. He turned… his curiosity aroused. There was something familiar about the eyes that looked back at him. Not madness as the queen’s picture, but a wisdom and warmth that soothed his soul. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing; it had to be her…didn’t it? The signature on the painting was one of an artist he was familiar with in his childhood studies. The artist in question had painted nearly five hundred years ago and had obviously been dead for many centuries now. That meant the woman was not who he thought it was. He frowned. Then who was she? Strange indeed. A mystery was afoot and he was the man to solve it.