The Woodcutter (27 page)

The Woodcutter saw the eyes of the Faerie People upon him, eyes of anger and rage – and pleading. Pleading for the life of the smallest of the small, one that they could not help, because of the cold band of iron.

The Woodcutter walked to the pixie’s side.

Too many…

Too many…

The pain swept through the glen, the screams still filling his ears.

His tears streamed down his face and he placed his invisible hands upon the ring, but his spirit hands could not command the metal to spring away, for he was no longer a spirit of the earth, but now a spirit of the air.

He looked down at his side.

There was one gift that could destroy the Vanishing House.

Or could free the tiny one.

His ax.

The humble gift from his father and his father’s father and his father before that.

The ax that was now his.

It would be spent forever.

But he knew.

He placed the ax against the ring and it melted through the cold iron.

The wooden handle crumbled into dust, the metal head disintegrated into rust and time.

But the pixie was free.

As it lifted itself from the ground, so returned the fury, a fury that made the earlier anger seem like a child’s tantrum.

Fury aimed at those who would cause a faerie to touch the earth.

The Queen, faced with a power beyond her imagining, reached into the pocket of her dress.

She pulled out a horn.

A horn, she had been told, that would call an ally. As it neared her mouth, the sky darkened and the wind swept, cold and biting.

She hesitated, but the Gentleman placed his hand upon the bottom of the horn and pushed it to her lips, eyes never leaving the nearing host.

And she blew.

The darkness fell in an instant.

The fae stopped their forward progression. Then, one by one, they let out a horrible laugh.

The Queen looked at the Gentleman in fear.

From the sky came the sound of dogs baying and thunderous footsteps. The trees cried,
Stay to the middle of the road!

The Queen shook her head, “No… no…”

“What?” the Gentleman quaked.

“We must run. We must run now,” she wept.

With that, she hiked up her skirts and leapt from the steps, leapt from the steps and ran from the Wood.

The Gentleman looked to the sky in confusion.

Then his eyes fell upon a horned helmet and a hunt made of demons.

He turned and he ran and the Twelve Dancing Ladies took off, fast behind.

Odin stopped before the Woodcutter.

The Woodcutter picked up the silver hellhound puppy, who was now rolling in the dirt of the forest, completely oblivious to the events going on.

The puppy wiggled and licked at Odin furiously.

Odin laughed a fearful sound that made the puppy wild with excitement.

Odin gave the Woodcutter a nod.

“If you want to hunt, you can join the ride,” the god invited.

You can join the ride
.

His offer was to ride the sky forever…

Or face walking the earth for eternity…

The Woodcutter’s head bowed as he weighed the future of infinity, when the face of a woman, humble and strong, filled his mind. He could not leave her. She was his wife, and he would remain by her side until her last breath was done. Living as a ghost with her for the few remaining years would be his strength in the endless purgatory.

The Woodcutter bowed his head in thanks.

But his feet did not move.

Odin called back to the faerie host, “We Hunt!”

Lightning crashed and flames ate at the ground as Odin charged off into the night, one arm holding the hellhound puppy and the other Sleipnir’s reins.

The arms of fae fell in behind the Raging Host and the hunt rode west and rode until dawn – dawn, wherever it finally rose.

Chapter 77

The glen was silent and the Vanishing House faded to nothing, leaving the forest just as it had been before.

The Woodcutter stood, axless, staring into the night.

He felt the energies move as she drew close, “Woodcutter?”

He looked down at Little Red Riding Hood, a child who stared at him with such knowing.

She held out her hand, but it passed through his.

Her Grandmother fell in behind her, “Woodcutter, your wandering soul is welcome in our home.”

Her eyes seemed so sad, so dulled by grief.

It took him a moment to realize that she was mourning him.

He murmured his thanks, but only silence came out of his lips. He followed the Grandmother and Little Red Riding Hood indoors.

The Grandmother had placed his body upon the large table in the center of the room during the fight. A circle had been drawn upon the floor, barring any magic from coming close to his body, and a crossbow lay on the chair to bar anything mortal.

Red Riding Hood picked up the crossbow and carried it to the window. She sat as sentry, staring out into the Wood.

The Grandmother stepped within the circle, but when the Woodcutter tried to follow, his path was blocked.

Panic filled his soul.

He had to get to his body.

He touched along the column of power, trying to find a weakness.

The Grandmother watched him as he struggled and whispered something that made him stop.

“You have died, Woodcutter.”

The words hit him like a blow.

“You have died, but you may not say goodbye to your body yet.” The Grandmother looked at him kindly, “I shall prepare it for sleep. You believe that you have lost your moment to ascend to the other side, but on the third day, the door you seek shall open up once again. Then you may say goodbye without being tempted to wander and you shall be allowed to rest in peace.”

Little Red Riding Hood pulled forward a chair and set it by the fire, “Sit here, Woodcutter, as our honored guest.”

He watched as the old woman gently undressed his body and covered it in a white sheet while she cleaned and repaired his worn clothing. He rocked in the chair as she bathed his corpse and anointed it with flowered oils. He watched as she redressed it and smoothed his hair. He watched as she lit white candles at the foot and at the head.

So distant.

So fragile.

The Woodcutter thought he could not die anymore.

But he did.

He died watching his body so close and not being able to touch it. He died from the longing to try to crawl once more beneath its skin. He would give anything to inhabit his flesh once again, anything to be able to touch his wife’s cheek just once more…

As the hours passed, he stood up from his chair, resolute to return home to say goodbye. If that meant missing the door, he decided he would walk the earth for eternity.

But he was stopped, stopped for three days by the Grandmother or Red Riding Hood.

The Grandmother and child talked with him and sang with him. They sat and would not allow him to begin the wandering. They forced him to stay with his body until it was time to go.

Finally, sunset fell upon the third day.

Chapter 78

The sky shone golden and pink as the Grandmother wheeled the bier out of her house and into the Woods.

He walked alongside, his hand placed upon his body’s chest with such longing.

The Grandmother and Red Riding Hood stopped at the base of a mighty oak tree whose gnarled roots ate the ground and whose grand trunk could only be surrounded if ten tall men stood hand in hand. There, the Grandmother and the child transferred the body to the earth.

They stood respectfully as the Woodcutter knelt at the side of his own being.

A phantom tear slid down the Woodcutter’s cheek and it fell, landing upon the earth.

The Woodcutter buried his face in his sleeve.

But where the tear touched, a small mushroom emerged, a mushroom of red with small dots of white on its cap. It stretched and yawned and shook off the dirt, and then shrank back as another tear slid from the Woodcutter and landed wetly upon its head. It shook off the tear like a dog come in from the rain, and where the spray of the second tear landed, a second mushroom emerged, waking and shaking as another tear fell. Around and around, the mushrooms grew, until the tears stopped and the Woodcutter looked up.

A circle of mushrooms gazed back at him from all sides, a circle of mushrooms grown into a complete faerie circle.

The Grandmother gave the Woodcutter a gentle smile as she placed her hand upon her granddaughter’s shoulder, “Do you think they would forget your kindness?”

A clear note sounded through the Wood.

A silver note that rang through the trees and seemed to cause the wind to laugh.

It chased the sorrow from the Woodcutter’s still heart and filled it with such gladness, with such hope.

Pinpricks of light grew closer, dancing in and out of the tree branches.

A faun tripped lightly into the clearing, blowing sweetly upon the pipes that played that single note. He stopped before the Woodcutter and gave him a wink. The faun turned back to the Woods and played another tune.

The pixies were first, like brightly lit fireflies. They darted towards the Woodcutter and giggled at his sadness, and he felt it melt like a dream at dawn. They turned back to the darkness and beckoned to other creatures waiting in the trees. Shyly stepped the greater fairies, with wings of gossamer and halos of blue and pink and yellow. The trees opened their hearts and the long limbed dryads smiled upon the Woodcutter.

And then, Titania and Oberon entered the clearing, sitting upon their carried litter.

Between them sat a girl whose hair was as black as ebony and whose skin was as white as snow. Her lips were red as blood and her name was Snow White.

Titania and Oberon gave her their hands as she stepped from the litter, giving the hands of the King and Queen to the young Princess.

Her eyes had lost the pain of losing her innocence. They held now a deepened wisdom of understanding.

She stepped into the faerie circle and stood before the Woodcutter, her small lips parted in a smile of knowing, “Woodcutter, lay thee inside thy body, for thou hast been parted from one another too long.”

The Woodcutter looked at her and, in his heart, something lived.

He lay down upon his body and felt himself sinking into the empty flesh.

Snow White knelt beside him and rested her hand upon his cheek. She whispered so quietly that only he could hear, “I offer thee the kiss of true love.”

Within her eyes was the gratitude of the thousands of souls that knew him. He saw them. He saw the faces of the fae, the faces of the Woods. He heard their voices as they whispered in his ear of their thanks for what he had endured, for the sacrifices he had made. He felt in his being their emotions, those feelings that words could not describe. They were here because he loved without thinking.

They were here because he was loved.

Truly loved.

True love.

And he felt her lips upon his. Her lips that held the love of a million souls he had loved without knowing it, loved in each moment he breathed in and out. Loved and was loved in return.

They had survived.

And he felt his heart stir in his chest.

A pleasant thump.

And then another.

And the Princess’s lips lifted from his own and he gasped. His lungs ached for air. He sat up, gulping the oxygen. Wheezing it in. Gasping. Tasting it. Allowing it to fill him as the heat returned to the tips of his fingers, to the tips of his toes. He felt the touch of his clothes upon his skin and he felt the pulse beating within his veins.

He was alive.

Alive.

The tears that fell were not ghosts.

They were real.

The Princess sat back on her heels and laughed.

As she laughed, the trees overhead opened their blossoms and new pixies flew from their flowers, born to chase away the darkness.

Snow White threw her arms around the Woodcutter and he held her.

Held another human tight.

She finally broke away and wiped the tears from his cheeks, “Go forth knowing that all is set to right, all because of thy love on this blessed, blessed night.”

She gripped her hands upon his arms and helped him unsteadily to his feet. The Woodcutter leaned against the tree, unused to his own eyes. They saw colors he never remembered, saw details in the leaves and the roughness of the trees. He leaned upon the trunk, unable to comprehend the beauty of it all.