Читать книгу Grim anthology - Christine Johnson - Страница 9

THE RAVEN PRINCESS

by Jon Skovron

The princess wouldn’t stop crying. The queen had fed her and changed her diaper. She didn’t know what else to do.

“I can host a banquet for a hundred lords and ladies. But what do I know about babies?” The nanny had asked for the day off and now the queen regretted letting her have it.

The princess stood at the edge of the crib, howling at the top of her lungs. Tears and snot ran down her plump face as she reached out with wet slobbery fingers.

“What do you want?!” The queen gripped the edge of the crib hard. She wanted to shake the ungrateful little creature until she stopped.

No, she would never do that. But she felt trapped by the tiny, impossible thing who shrieked mindlessly at her. She moved to the other side of the room, turned her back on the princess and took a slow breath.

The coarse call of birds cut through the princess’s cries. The queen looked out the window and spied a flock of ravens. She had always found the raven’s caw grating and distasteful, but right now, it seemed preferable to the endless wail of the little brat. As she watched them wheel slowly up into the sky, she said out loud:

“I wish you would just fly away with those ravens.”

The crying stopped and silence fell suddenly in the room. The queen turned around, half expecting to find the child passed out from exhaustion. But the princess stood in her crib, her eyes wide. Her little bow mouth was quirked in the corners, as if she had just taken a bite of something and its flavor surprised her. She sat down hard and let out a cough that sounded strangely like the caw of a raven.

“My darling.” Fear crept into the queen’s chest. “What’s wrong?”

The princess looked up and her bright blue eyes slowly filled with blackness until even the whites were gone.

“Oh, God,” whimpered the queen.

Thick black hairs began to sprout on the princess’s arms, legs and face. No, not hairs. Feathers.

“Please,” whispered the queen. “I didn’t mean...”

The princess opened her mouth wide and made a gagging sound until a black, curved beak emerged and her lips peeled back into nothing. Her legs grew thinner, then, with a loud crack, suddenly bent in the wrong direction, as her feet curled in like claws. Her body shrank into her white dress until the queen could no longer see her.

“My darling?”

A raven’s head poked out from the dress. The bird shook herself as she untangled her wings from the dress. She hopped up onto the edge of the crib, black claws digging into the wood. She regarded the queen for a moment, her head cocked to one side. Then she let out a harsh caw and flew past the queen and out the open window.

The queen never spoke of what happened that day. It was thought that the princess had been abducted by mercenaries or brigands. The king searched everywhere, but didn’t find her. As the years went on, the queen’s secret shame aged her into a crone before her time. Finally one night she could no longer bear it, and left the castle without a word. The king did not search for her.

* * *

The young man was not a good hunter. He had some skill with a bow when the target was a bull’s-eye, but he simply could not bring himself to shoot a living thing. His parents had sent him away in disgust, and none of the village girls showed any interest in him. So he lived alone in a small cottage in the forest, where he ate berries and the vegetables he grew in his small garden.

The young man would have been content to live this way, except he was lonely. He hoped that if he conquered his fear of hunting, he might finally catch a girl’s eye. So one morning he set out into the forest, resolving not to return until he had made a kill.

First he came across a deer. But he was so petrified, he could not move until it was out of sight. Later, he spied a badger waddling along. But his hands shook so badly that by the time he was able to nock an arrow, the badger had slipped down into its hole. He cursed himself, wondering how he could be so cowardly.

Finally, near sunset, he spied a lone raven standing on an outcropping of rock in a small clearing. Ravens were loathsome animals, eaters of the dead and dying, and harbingers of bad luck. The world would be a better place with one less raven. He quietly set an arrow and drew back on the bowstring. This time, he would claim his place as a man.

But the instant before he released the arrow, the raven turned to look at him and cocked its head in such a curious, intelligent way that the young man flinched and the arrow flew wide, embedding itself in a tree five feet away.

“That,” remarked the raven, “was a terrible shot.”

“Luckily for you,” said the young man. Then his eyes grew wide. “You speak!”

“Truly,” said the raven. “I have seen boys of ten and old men shaky with weariness who had better aim.”

“Amazing! I nearly kill a magic talking raven and he criticizes me for not piercing his breast with a wooden shaft.”

“I am not a ‘he,’” said the raven, feathers ruffling. “And I’ll thank you not to talk so casually about my breasts.”

“My apologies, Lady Raven,” said the young man with a slight bow. He slowly walked out into the clearing. “But I must know, how is it you talk?”

“Because I am not really a raven, but a maiden princess under a curse. Now I must know, how is it you are such a terrible marksman?”

“I happen to be an excellent marksman!”

“Oh?” The raven turned toward where the arrow was still embedded deep in the bark. “Were you hunting trees today, then?”

The young man sighed and shook his head. “My aim fails me the moment I target a living thing.”

“And why is that?”

He thought about it a moment, then finally said, “I don’t know.”

“Could it be that you are afraid to kill?”

“Well, that would be an unfortunate trait in a hunter.”

“Indeed. You would have been better off born to a shoemaker or a tailor, perhaps.”

“We cannot choose who we are born to.”

“Truly.” The raven turned away and raised her wings to take flight.

“Please don’t go yet!” said the young man. “Meeting you is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Unsurprisingly.”

“Won’t you tell me of your curse?”

She lowered her wings. She did not turn back around, but craned her head toward him.

“I have been cursed like this since I was but a year old.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Seventeen.”

“That is terrible!” said the young man. “Is there no way to break this curse?”

The raven turned back all the way around to face him. “There is. Why, would you be willing to attempt it?”

“Of course!” Then he looked suddenly hesitant. “That is...if it is within my ability.”

“You wouldn’t have to kill.”

“Then yes, I would consider it a privilege. What must I do?”

“On the edge of this forest, a small house sits next to a crossroads. By the house is a pile of wood chips. Sit upon that pile and wait for me. The curse allows me to appear in my true form for one hour every night at midnight. I will come for you, and if you are awake when I arrive, the curse will be broken.”

“That doesn’t seem so hard.”

“Beware,” said the raven. “There is an old woman who lives in the house. She will try to give you food and drink. But if you accept it, you will not be able to stay awake that night.”

“Hunger and thirst are not new to me,” said the young man. “I will prevail easily.”

“I am not so sure of that,” said the raven.

* * *

The young man hiked through the darkening forest and arrived at the cottage just as the sun slid behind the tree line. The cottage was even smaller and coarser than his own. The walls were made of stacked logs sealed with mud, and the hay thatched roof looked rotten in places. The young man felt sorry for the old woman who lived there, whoever she was.

He found a bed of oak chips by the side of the house, just as the raven had described. It wasn’t very comfortable, but he thought that might help him stay awake. So he sat down and waited.

Darkness had fallen when the old woman emerged from the cottage, holding a lantern. She had a gentle smile, and eyes that were warm yet sad.

“A guest!” Her voice was as soft as worn velvet. “Oh, how wonderful!” She came over and held out the lantern to look at him. “Handsome face. A little thin and pale, though. You could do with a bit of meat.”

“It has been a long time since I have eaten meat,” he admitted.

“Well, you are in luck, then, my boy. I have a nice fat rabbit turning on the spit. Far too much for me to eat. Won’t you come inside and share it?”

“It’s generous of you, but I must remain out here until after midnight.”

“Ah, the old legend of the Raven Princess, eh?”

“Old legend? Have others tried to break the curse before me?”

“Of course! And who can blame them! According to the legends, her beauty is like no other.”

“I had not heard of her beauty,” he said.

“Oh? Then why do you sit here?”

“So that she may be free of the curse.”

“And that is all?”

“Should there be more?”

She smiled briefly. “I suppose not. Now, won’t you come in and share supper with me? It is still several hours until midnight. You would be able to return to this spot in plenty of time.”

“I thank you for your hospitality, but I cannot.”

Her face grew suddenly sad. “I understand. What is the company of a poor old woman when there is the promise of a beautiful princess.”

“Please, that isn’t what I meant....”

But she turned and slowly walked back into the cottage as if she hadn’t heard him.

As he sat on the woodpile, he thought of her, eating alone inside. He had eaten many meals alone and knew how it felt. The silence broken only by one’s own chewing. How many meals had she taken in solitude? How many more lay before her, an unbroken line stretched out until her life ended?