Snow White and the Huntsman (9 page)

She stared into the water, afraid to go any farther. They were both quiet for a moment.

“Why does the Queen want you dead?” he asked. She turned, for the first time noticing his gray eyes. He had thick, muscular arms and a broad chest. His straw-blond hair came down to his shoulders. She looked at his side, realizing he’d been slashed in the scuffle. Blood stained his shirt, spreading below his leather vest.

“You’re hurt,” she muttered, watching him press his hand to his side. He nodded, still waiting for her reply. Snow White looked at the ground. “She takes from all the young women in the kingdom. She steals their youth and beauty.… I’ve seen what happens to them.”

“You escaped, though,” the Huntsman said. “How long were you there?”

Snow White scanned the Dark Forest, making sure there were no figures lurking in the mist. “I spent ten years in the north tower.”

“
Who are you?
” he whispered in vexation. He scanned her ripped clothes and tangled hair again.

Snow White wiped the sweat from her forehead, realizing how she must look. Her velvet bodice was worn and threadbare in spots, the shift underneath stained and torn.

“Who are you?” he asked again, much louder this time.

She glanced around. They were in the middle of the Dark Forest. She had no idea which trail led back to the village, or whether she could even find it. High above, the trees moved, their branches bending unnaturally low, as if they were reaching for her. This man—this
Huntsman
—was her only chance. “I’m the daughter of King Magnus,” she finally said.

The Huntsman shook his head. He looked unconvinced. “The king’s daughter is dead. She died the same night as her father.”

She stared at him, defiant, daring him to question her again. He pressed his fingers to his chin and circled her. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered under his breath. He peered closer at her jet-black hair, the milk-white skin that hadn’t seen sun since she was a child. Snow White stood up straight, letting him notice the big brown eyes she had shared with her father and the soft red lips.

He stopped in front of her, his head down. He gently took her hand and lifted it, turning her arm over to look at
the scrapes and bruises marring her skin. She held her breath, unsure how to react. He must have been holding his breath, too, for he suddenly exhaled.

Then he firmly gripped her arm and started off, dragging her along as he trudged beside the muddy stream.

“Where are we going?” she yelled, dismayed by his abrupt violence.

“It’s not safe here anymore,” he said. “Especially for the king’s daughter. They’re not going to let you go easily. They might just be stupid enough to follow us deeper into the forest.”

She couldn’t argue with that. But she shook her arm out of his grasp and trudged along without his help.

They walked for what seemed like ages. Snow White listened to his steady footsteps as the light in the forest dimmed. The darkness between the trees seemed even more menacing now. Shadows darted through the bushes beside them. Snow White tried to ignore them, instead moving faster over rocks and fallen trees, but she could hear the wild animals breathing in the dark.

While they moved, the Huntsman spoke briefly. He told her his name. He’d been summoned by the Queen to lead the small group into the Dark Forest—a place he’d gone into before while tracking animals.

When Snow White asked about his reward, he’d said only that she had lied. He didn’t mention his wife, or what the Queen had promised him. She’d wanted to ask more,
but his eyes had welled up at the mention of it. Then he’d turned away, trudging up ahead, out of earshot.

They followed the stream for another hour and then started up the incline, where the forest opened up to a small clearing. The dirt was mostly free of vines and plants, making it seem like one of the safer places to rest. Snow White sat on a rotted log. Eric lowered himself down beside her. He unbuckled his belt and peeled his vest and shirt off, exposing the wound in his side. She winced just looking at it.

He moved slowly, trying to get to the flagon of grog.

“Here,” she finally said. “Let me help you.” She unscrewed the heavy canteen, holding it out to him.

“Can you pour it on?” he asked. He nodded down at the two-inch gash where the sword had gone in. “I don’t think it hit anything vital. I wouldn’t have gotten this far otherwise.”

Snow White doused the wound, cringing as he twisted, obviously in pain. Then she ripped at the hem of her linen dress, working until she got a square piece—the cleanest she could find. She pressed it against his side. “You’re welcome,” she finally whispered when Eric was silent for a long while.

“We’ll stay here for the night,” he said.

Snow White cleared a space on the ground and sat down. She looked at him. He was still clutching the tattered rag to his wound. He scanned the trees over her shoulder.

“You never answered me,” Snow White said.

“I don’t recall a question.” Eric brushed the sweaty hair off his forehead.

Snow White curled into a tight ball, trying to steel herself against the cold. “Where are we going?” she repeated.

Eric leaned forward. The tree roots around them glowed with an eerie phosphorescent light, giving them just enough to see by. He grabbed a stick from the ground and drew a box, a few triangles, and a giant circle. He pointed to the box. “Here’s the Queen’s castle,” he said. Then he moved the stick, pointing to the triangles and circle beside it. “The mountains and the Dark Forest. Here, past them—there’s a village.”

Snow White shook her head. She took the stick from him, writing the words in the dirt:
DUKE HAMMOND
. She underlined his name twice. “I need to go to the duke’s castle.”

Eric grabbed the stick from her hand. “You’ll go where I take you.”

She studied the Huntsman’s clothes, noticing his weathered boots and the pants that were worn through with holes. If he wouldn’t do it out of sheer goodness, surely there were other reasons for him to do it. “There’s a reward that awaits you,” she offered. “There are noblemen there—an army.”

Eric pulled his shirt back on, seemingly oblivious to the dried bloodstain that spread out on the side of it. He laughed. “The duke fights? He hides behind walls. I know sheep that have more fight than him.”

“They’ll give you two hundred gold pieces,” Snow White continued, undeterred. “Do we have a deal?”

The Huntsman took a giant swig from his flagon. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then smiled. “Fine. I’ll deliver you to safety, m’lady.”

Snow White leaned in close, searching his eyes. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Swear it.”

“I swear,” Eric said. “Constantly. It’s one of my better qualities.” He smirked, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

She glared at him, ignoring his attempt at charm. He would either do it or he wouldn’ t—there was no time for games. Finally, he nodded, his smile gone, as if to show he was sincere. “It’s a deal, then,” she said.

She went to the edge of the clearing and grabbed an armful of dried leaves. She laid them over the dirt, then another armful, trying to create some semblance of comfort. Then she lay down on the makeshift cushion, scattering more leaves over herself. She stared at the black forest above. Giant birds cut across the sky. A low growling sound could be heard in the distance. She pulled her tattered dress around her, trying to warm herself. Tomorrow they’d start off again, on their way to Duke Hammond’s. With a little luck, she could reach the stronghold within a week.

She turned to Eric, who had lain down beside the old log, his hand clutching the bloody gauze. “Do you think … ?” she said, the worry returning now that the night was upon them. “Will they follow us?”

Eric turned to her, his eyes lit up by the glowing tree roots. “I don’t know. They’d be foolish to—few survive.” He scratched his head, then took another swig of his drink.

“Is that good news or bad?” Snow White let out an uncomfortable laugh. Eric didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his flagon, trying to determine how much grog there
was left. She sat up and studied the Huntsman’s face, wondering about this guide she’d just hired. “How far have you traveled into the Dark Forest?”

“We passed it a few miles back,” he mumbled. She pulled more leaves around her, searching the woods, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just kept sipping that stupid flagon. He took one sip, then another, not stopping until his movements slowed. His eyes fell shut. Within minutes, he was snoring happily, leaving Snow White all alone.

The terrible noises of the forest surrounded her. Every snapping branch or crying bird sent chills through her entire body. She closed her eyes, willing the rest of the world away, but she felt insects crawling up her legs. Something buzzed in her ear.

It was a long time before she could sleep.

T
he Huntsman hacked through the thick undergrowth with his two axes, cutting down the vines and stray branches that blocked their passage. Snow White followed a few feet behind him, listening to the strange voices that whispered through the trees.

“What is that?” she asked. She couldn’t make out the words, but they kept calling to her, relentless.

“Pay them no mind,” Eric said. He swiped at some thornbushes with his axe. “The Dark Forest gains its strength from your weakness.”

The Huntsman continued on. Snow White started after him, but the path closed behind his back. A thornbush caught the side of her dress. She grabbed the soft fabric and pulled, but the branch wouldn’t let her go. Instead, it seemed like it held tighter, the barbs twisting in the thick linen. When she looked up, she could barely see Eric in front of her. Vines snaked out from the trees, the grass rose up
around her feet, and the tree limbs leaned in, coming just inches from her face.

“Huntsman!” she yelled. She pushed the branches back, trying to step through, but it was no use. The forest was swallowing her whole.

The more she struggled, the more the vines grew in thick coils around her. Leaves spread out in every direction, blocking her view. It was getting hard to breathe. She tried to raise her foot, but a branch had grown over her toe. She strained against it until it snapped. “Huntsman!”

Then, finally, she heard footsteps in front of her—somewhere beyond the tangled wall of green. An axe came down just inches from her right arm, cutting the vines that reached for her. He slashed at the forest to her left and above her, the broken limbs and leaves falling around her feet in heavy piles. She stepped forward, but her dress was still caught, that one thick, thorny branch refusing to let it go.

The Huntsman pulled a smaller knife from his belt. He took a fistful of cloth in his hand and slashed it until she was free. Snow White looked down at the dress, which now revealed her front and most of her left thigh, cropped so short, she wondered if he saw her undergarments. She glared at him, the heat rising to her face.

The Huntsman narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess,” he grumbled. Then he turned and started running, as if to punish her. She stalled for one second, and he had the lead he needed. She had to sprint to catch up.

As she ran, her entire body was tense, her hands balled
into tight fists. She hated him right then. She hated the smug smile that appeared whenever he was making fun of her, or how he always seemed to know where they were going, even when the entire forest looked the same in every direction. But mostly she hated that she needed him. To lead her, to cut her free from some terrible, man-eating plants. To save her from that bastard Finn.