The Brave Apprentice (24 page)

“If any troll ever again plagues the kingdom, we will unleash a storm of bees upon you. Now even our arrows are dipped in their venom.”

At a signal from Ludowick, archers stepped forward and pulled back the strings of their bows, with arrows pointing into the pit.

Patch’s voice rose. “Do you understand?”

A reply came from below, high-pitched and shrill. “Very well,” it said.

“Then we have met for the last time. Remember what we have said. Stay in your holes in your mountains. Or you will feel our sting. Farewell!”

As they turned to go, an odd-looking man, tall and gangly with wild tufts of straw-blond hair jutting from under his helmet, danced to the edge of the pit. He reached into the pouch at his side. “I almost forgot—we have a gift for you.” He put a jar down at the top of the stairs. “Honey, from the royal hives. Queen Cecilia hopes you like it! Hoo ha!” And then the Prince of Fools capered away, flapping his arms and laughing, joining the rest of the brave party.

Turn the page for a sneak peek at P. W. Catanese’s next page-turner!

Available Fall 2005

much sunlight is left?
Rudi asked himself.
An hour or two, maybe.
He ran down the wooded path, wondering where the girls might be. After a while, he stopped and shouted their names, but the only answer came from the birds that were startled into flight and the tiny unseen creatures that scurried in the brush.

Farther in,
Rudi decided. Agnes wasn’t kind, and she was clever. She would have lured the girls deep into the forest, where they’d have no chance to find their way home.
Just like what happened to—what were their names? Hansel. That was the boy. And his sister was Gretel.
They were relatives of his who lived in the same house many years ago. One day they’d been taken into the woods and told to wait by the fire for their mother and father to get them when their work was done. But their parents never came. And then it began to get dark.
Like it is right now.

He shouted again and put his hands behind his ears to listen. For a moment, he thought he heard something. But no, it was only an owl’s cry.

Rudi ran farther and came to a stream with footprints in the muddy bank. There were two small pairs of prints among them, and they pointed in only one direction: deeper into the woods. He leaped across the water and ran on, looking left and right for a place where Agnes might have led the girls off the trail.

He stopped at last and leaned against a tree, hugging his stomach and drawing air into his aching lungs. When he could breathe more easily again he shouted, “Lucie! Elsebeth!”

He heard nothing. But he smelled something. He tilted his head back and inhaled deeply, turned to where the scent was strongest, and sniffed again.

A fire. Somewhere ahead.
Rudi stepped off the trail, keenly aware of how easy it would be to get lost. He’d be walking away from the setting sun, so he could find the trail again by heading back toward it, obviously. Or later, by keeping the North Star to his right. He smacked his fist against his thigh. Why hadn’t he taught the girls how to find their way through the woods? There were so many things he knew and never shared.

The smoky scent grew stronger as he trotted east, with his shadow stretching long and thin before him. He called again and again, but still no one answered.
Maybe they’re asleep by the fire,
he tried to reassure himself. He saw smoke through the trees and sprinted the rest of the way, until he stood in a clearing with the smoldering embers in front of him. But the girls were not there.

Rudi noticed something on the ground near the embers. It was a wreath made from wild vines twisted together. Lucie and Elsebeth surely made it; it was the sort of thing they would do to pass the time. Rudi picked it up and clutched it against his chest. He shouted their names again and again in every direction, until his throat was raw and his voice grew weak.

“No,” he moaned. He kicked at the embers, and sparks flew toward the dimming sky. They were out there somewhere, sweet Lucie and serious Elsie, only six and seven years old. But which way? He was no hunter who could track their steps through the woods, reading the trodden grass or broken stems or other subtle signs. Besides, it would be too dark to see anything at all before long. He thought of them lost among the trees, holding on to one another in the black of night, and fought to push that image from his mind.

There was one thing he could do: build up the fire again, until it roared so high it could be seen for miles in the night.
Yes, they’ll see it and come back,
he thought. He gathered twigs and sticks and piled them on the embers—it would be easier than starting a new fire with his flint and steel.

The bits of wood smoldered and burst into flame under his coaxing breath, and soon a modest fire blazed again. He needed more fuel now, the biggest, driest branches he could find. At the edge of the clearing lay a dead branch jutting from the trunk of a tree. He seized it and wrenched it off, grunting through his clenched teeth. The branch was long, and he stomped on it to break it into smaller pieces. Somehow it felt good to break it, and he wanted to go on stomping until only sawdust was left and keep on stomping until the whole forest lay in splinters.

“How could they do this?” he screamed. It occurred to him that people could be far crueler than he’d ever believed possible. A raw and powerful kind of anger roared inside him. He was hardly aware that he’d picked up a broken length of the dead limb and was smashing it against the tree, sending chips and bits of bark flying. And then he heard a voice from the shadows.

“Are you looking for the girls?” It was a strange voice, thin and reedy and high.

Rudi froze. He could suddenly hear the thump of his heart inside his ears. It was almost night now, and more light came from the fire than the sky. Between the trees, he spied a pale spectral face with dark eyes staring back.

The voice came again. “I said, are you looking for the girls?”

Rudi had to swallow before he could answer. “Who is that? Who are you?”

The face vanished behind a thick tree and came out on the other side, a little closer. It seemed to float among the shadows. “You are Rudi, aren’t you? They said you would come.”

“Where are the girls? If you have them, let them go.” Rudi opened the top of his bag and drew out a little ax.

“Put that away. Don’t be afraid. The girls are safe.”

“I’m not afraid,” Rudi shouted, but his brittle voice betrayed him. “You say the girls are safe? Then take me to them—please! But who are you? Why won’t you let me see you?” He squeezed the handle of the ax to stop it from shaking.

The pale face hung in the shadows for a moment, and then bone white hands reached up and drew a hood over the head. The stranger stepped into the orange light of the fire. It was a woman, Rudi realized; he could tell from the way she moved and her slender hands, and he should have known already from her voice—it was hoarse, but still a woman’s. Her head was bowed, so that the hood concealed her features. She wore a long cloak made of deerskin-dyed dark brown, almost black. In one hand she held a bow, and he saw the feathered ends of a bouquet of arrows over her shoulder. Rudi lowered the ax to his side.

“My name is Marusch. Now come. We should leave this place,” she said.

“Why? I’m not going anywhere until you show your face!”

“Ill-mannered boy. You may regret what you’ve asked,” she said. The pale, long-fingered hands rose again and pushed the hood back.

Rudi gasped. He couldn’t help it. Only the long brown hair that hung past her shoulders in braids seemed normal. Everything else was wrong. Her skin was pure white, as if the sun never touched it. Coarse but sparse hair sprouted all over her face, even her forehead. And her mouth was the worst of all. The lips were shriveled and drawn back, baring a mouth full of long, red-stained teeth.

“Get away,” Rudi whined. He stepped backward and raised his ax to ward off the ghastly stranger.

“I warned you,” she said. “But now you must …” Her voice trailed off and she looked past Rudi. A sound was approaching: footsteps in the woods.

“Lucid Elsie?” Rudi called out weakly. It was more a question than a hail.

“It isn’t them,” Marusch whispered. “It was a mistake to build the fire again—now follow me!” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and hastened into the trees. Rudi paused for a moment and listened with failing courage to the approaching footsteps. They were too heavy and too many to belong to the girls. And something was wrong with the sound, somehow. Something unlike the steps of men. Rudi thought he heard other, unsettling, noises mingled with the steps: sounds like hissing and gurgling.

Before whatever it was entered the clearing and saw him, Rudi snatched up his pack and ran after Marusch. In the dim light, he could just make out her form. “Slow down,” he called as loudly as he dared. She stopped and waited, then gestured for him to join her behind a fallen tree. She tapped a finger against her drawn-back lips. They hid quietly, and she peered over the top of the log every now and then.

“It is safe,” she said finally.

“Who were they?”

“Strange beings that have begun to prowl these woods,” she replied. “Now come.” And she was on the move again, darting through the trees.

Available Fall 2005

P. W. (P
AUL
W
ILLIAM)
C
ATANESE
was born in New York and grew up in Connecticut, where he lives with his wife and three children. When he’s not writing books, he draws cartoons and works for an advertising agency.

Interestingly, the letters in “P. W. Catanese” can be rearranged to spell “want escape?” Paul figures that’s why people read books like his.

To his readers, Paul writes: “Hope you enjoy them. Don’t worry if you’ve forgotten most of the original fairy tale that this story is based on—everything you need to know is right in these pages.”

Visit Paul on the Web at
pwcatanese.com
.