Snow White and the Huntsman (8 page)

The other men turned to run, but Eric held up his hand to stop them. He pointed to the thin gray trees. He was certain the escaped prisoner was in there—he could hear her struggling against the tangled undergrowth. Eric was about
to draw his axe when a branch snapped. A figure emerged from the trees and ran in the opposite direction, farther into the Dark Forest.

Eric gave chase, letting his shirt fall from his face. He moved quickly through the thick fog, trying not to plant his feet anywhere for too long, scared that the moss and vines would twist themselves around his ankles. His prey was just twenty feet off. She moved through the dense woods, weaving in and out of the trees, until she disappeared into the fog. Eric slowed down, searching the misty terrain. He spotted some thick bushes up ahead, just to his right. The branches were broken where she had gone in.

In one swift motion, he reached into the shrub, his hands clasping one of her legs. It didn’t take much strength to drag her out, but she fought him anyway, writhing under his grip. She was a small thing.

“Let me go!” she screamed. She turned over, her giant brown eyes staring up at him.

He stepped back for a moment, uncertain what to do. She was so much younger than he’d imagined—no more than seventeen. Her legs were covered with scrapes and bruises. She had the whitest skin he’d ever seen, with full red lips and black hair that fell down her back. When he’d heard of the prisoner, he’d imagined a vicious old hag wielding knives or something. This girl—this
beauty
—he definitely wasn’t expecting.

He helped her up, keeping his hand tight around her arm. She struggled back, sinking her heels into the dirt.
When he wouldn’t let go, she bit into his hand, drawing blood.

“Enough!” He pulled her back toward the clearing, trying to bring her where Finn and his men were waiting.

But the girl struggled against him, landing a hard blow into his neck. “She’s going to kill me!” she screamed. Tears filled her eyes. “I was her prisoner for ten years, and now she’s going to kill me for no reason. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Taking in her tattered dress and knotted hair, Eric thought she was probably telling the truth. Ten years, though …
Why would the Queen need to lock up a little girl?

Eric shook his head, trying not to give in to the girl’s desperate pleas. “It’s not my business what you did. But you aren’t the first prisoner to claim they were innocent.”

The girl’s legs gave out beneath her. She dropped to the ground, turning to dead weight. “Please—you have to believe me,” she said, straining against his grasp. “Her brother tried to cut out my heart.”

Eric looked down at her. She was shaking. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She kept staring at him with those huge brown eyes. He’d never seen someone so terrified in his entire life.

“I swear it,” she said.

Eric looked back through the Dark Forest. He wanted a moment to think. He wanted somewhere to sit, have a swig of the grog, and think the whole thing over. But Finn and his men were coming toward him, their thin shirts still covering their faces.

“Quick work!” Finn yelled. He pulled down his collar and wiped the pollen from his eyes.

Eric studied him. He’d never liked his thin, weasel-like face or the nose that pointed at the end. The girl stood and hid behind him, trying to get as far away from Finn as possible.

“Him,” she whispered. “He’s the one who came at me with a knife.” Her hands shook violently as Finn neared.

“What do you intend to do with her?” Eric asked, stepping forward to slow Finn down.

Finn’s top lip curled in displeasure. “What do you care, Huntsman?” He turned to the three remaining guards, signaling for them to move in.

Eric tightened his grip on the girl. His head was throbbing from so many hours without a drink. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he still felt drawn to fight. “I’ll keep my word when the Queen keeps hers,” he said. He loosened his grip on the girl’s arm, now stepping back, pushing her deeper into the forest and away from Finn’s men.

Finn wiped his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “You
are
a drunk and a fool,” he laughed. “My Queen has many powers; she can take life or sustain it. But she can’t bring your wife back from the dead.”

Eric winced, the words stinging in ways he didn’t know possible. “But she told me …” he said. He realized he had been foolish enough to allow a tiny shred of hope to creep back into his heart.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see Sara as he’d found her that day. She had worn her favorite dress—the
one with the tiny lilies embroidered on the collar. The knife had gone into her side, just below her rib cage, tearing apart the fabric. Another gash was across her neck. The villagers said someone had come to pilfer supplies—the two gold coins Eric had, the jarred fruits and vegetables hidden below the washbasin. Sara had tried to stop them. By the time Eric had gotten there, her hands were stiff and cold.

Reliving the anguish, Eric couldn’t stop himself from crying out, “I want her back!” It was a cry of pure pain.

The Huntsman suddenly knew what he needed to do.

He pushed the girl back farther, trying to get her away from the men. As soon as she was out of reach, she ran into the trees, not bothering to look back. Eric pulled the knife from his waist. He flicked his wrist, throwing it into one guard’s chest, right beside his heart. The man fell to the side, grabbing a tree for support. Then Eric drew the two hatchets he carried on his belt. He wielded them in the air—one in each hand.

Finn stalked forward. He held his sword at an angle, waiting to get close enough to Eric’s neck. The other two guards rushed in first. Eric knocked one in the head with the blunt end of one of the hatchets. The guard stumbled back, momentarily stunned. He touched his hand to his blond hair, where a wound had opened. Eric swiped at the other, but the guard lunged to the side. Eric continued to fight the man, blocking each blow as it came. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Finn raising his sword. Finn was moving in, ready to strike.

Eric hurled a hatchet into Finn’s chest. Finn staggered to the side. The other two guards backed up, eyeing the remaining hatchet in Eric’s hands. For a moment, no one moved. They all watched as Finn regained his footing. As if by magic, there was no blood around the wound. His face returned to normal—a sneer was the only sign that he’d been hit. He pulled the hatchet out of his chest and laughed, feeling the smooth skin where it had entered. His shirt was ripped, but he was otherwise fine.

“The Queen has given me protection,” he said darkly. “Her touch has transferred power—I cannot be wounded. Not here, inside the Dark Forest.” He laughed as he threw the hatchet at Eric. It missed, the blade lodging in a nearby tree trunk.

Eric’s throat went dry. He’d never seen anything like it before—a man who could not be wounded. If anything, he looked strengthened by the blow. Finn was glaring at him, the veins in his neck visible as he raised his sword.

Eric tried to block him, but his arm didn’t come up in time. Finn’s sword pierced him in the side. The metal burned as it ripped through his flesh. He twisted away, hoping it hadn’t gone in too deep. When Finn pulled it out, blood spilled from the wound, trickling down Eric’s side and onto his tattered gray pants.

The guards stepped back, as if to let Finn finish him off. Finn lunged, but Eric dodged the final blow, instead taking Finn out at the ankles with his right foot. Finn hit the ground hard. He lay there for a second, momentarily stunned.

Eric leaned down. He grabbed Finn by the back of his shirt and picked him up, wincing at the pain in his side. Then he flipped him into a stray patch of mushrooms, watching as a yellow cloud expanded above him. Eric covered his nose, careful not to breathe in any of the pollen.

The other two guards brought their shirts over their mouths. Finn tried to stand, but the pollen had already taken hold of him. His eyes glazed over. He stumbled forward, his hands outstretched, feeling around for something the rest of them couldn’t see. He was smiling now, the yellow dust covering his hands. A clump of it was stuck to his chin.

Eric touched the wound in his side, looking at the blood on his fingers. He eyed the guards just a few feet away. They were standing between the trees. They had their swords out, the silver blades aimed at his throat. He couldn’t take both of them—not now. Not wounded like this.

Eric glanced over his shoulder at the Dark Forest. The mist had thinned out. The strange voices whispered to him. For the first time, he swore he could understand the words. They were calling from the darkness, urging him to go. He yanked his hatchet from the tree and turned, running as fast as he could into the dense undergrowth after the girl.

S
now White darted through the woods. She kept her eyes on the ground, jumping over fallen trees and winding around stray mushroom patches, careful not to kick up the dangerous pollen. Prickly bushes cut her legs. A branch whipped her arm, raising a hard, pink welt. Still, she kept moving, too scared to even look back.

She cut through a field of red flowers. The dirt squelched beneath her feet, threatening to pull her into the mud forever. She kept going, yanking one foot out, then the other, until she was across. She started down a hilly incline to where a long stream opened beyond the mist.

So they had found her here. They had come into the Dark Forest, risking death to retrieve her. And they’d brought that awful man, his clothes stained with sweat and grog. She’d never seen someone so foul. Who was he? And why had he agreed to go into the Dark Forest for the Queen?
She could understand why Finn would follow her. Ravenna controlled him, telling him what to do, what to say, how to be. The choice was never his to make. The guards simply did what they were told.

But the Huntsman—that’s what they’d called him, hadn’t they? Why would he come in here, risking his life, if he didn’t need to? They’d mentioned something about his wife—that much Snow White remembered. His face had gone pale when Finn had said her name out loud.
Is she being kept prisoner? Is that the Queen’s hold over him?

Snow White continued down the steep incline. The thin vines that clung to the side of the hill slithered forward and wrapped around her ankles, tethering her to the earth. She ripped them off as she moved closer to the black stream. When she’d almost reached it, a heavy hand came down on her shoulder. Another covered her mouth, preventing her from screaming. The reeking Huntsman pulled her to him, one finger over his lips to signal quiet. When he didn’t hear anything after a moment, he released her, his face breaking into a relieved smile.

She was filled with loathing. He had tried to give her to Finn. He was working with Ravenna’s soldiers, ready to hand her to them so they could cut out her heart. But now what? She was aware that he had
let
her go—that she would be dead already if he wanted her to be. Why the change? And why was he still following her? The uncertainty filled her with rage.

She wheeled her fist back and then punched him as
hard as she could in the mouth. He stumbled backward. As she pushed past him, he put his fingers to his mouth, feeling the blood on his lip.

“Run,” he barked before she was a few feet down the muddy bank. “You won’t make it a hundred yards, but the warning has been made, so my conscience is clear.” He shrugged.

This Huntsman was profoundly irritating. She paused anyway, though, looking closely at the stream. It was filled with eels. Their dark bodies twisted beneath the surface. There were so many, they’d turned the water black. She swallowed hard, feeling that maybe—just maybe—he had a point.