Snow White and the Huntsman (11 page)

He stalked toward her. She leaned in, the knife in her right hand still pointed at his neck. “Stay back,” he said, waving her away, toward the grass field. “You’re too small to attack. You have to parry—use your opponent’s strength against him. Raise your opposing forearm.”

Snow White put her left arm in the air, her wrist parallel to the ground. The Huntsman was still smiling, as if he approved. For the first time since they’d met, she didn’t despise him. He seemed kinder now, warm even, as he watched her. He stepped forward again, and this time, Snow White felt the space closing between them. “With it, you’ll block and deflect the opposing thrust. You’ll lose meat, but you won’t die from it,” he spoke softly, taking another step. “Wait until I’m close,” he urged.

She didn’t take her eyes off him. Even though he was moving toward her—the supposed enemy—there was a playfulness in his expression. That dimple appeared again. Her sweaty palm gripped the knife, trying to keep her concentration.

“Not yet,” Eric whispered. “Watch my hands, not my eyes.”

She lowered her gaze to the axe. His movements were steady as he took another step toward her. She resisted the urge to scare him back with the knife. “Not yet,” he repeated. “Not until you can feel my breath.”

He took another step, then another, until he was just inches from her. He smiled, his gray eyes daring her to act. She didn’t hesitate. She raised the knife, pointing it up, stopping just before it hit his breastbone.

“Yes!” Eric smiled. “That’s when you’ll drive it through him. To the hilt. Keep your eyes locked on his, and don’t pull it out until you see his soul.” He wrapped his hand around hers. He held the knife with her, smiling as though she’d done well.

Her breaths were shorter. She pulled her hand away, unsure what it was she felt, with his face so close to hers. “Why are you showing me this?” she asked. “Why now?”

The Huntsman looked over her shoulder. She followed his gaze across the field, to where the caves were. “It’s important you know.…” He trailed off, not saying what he was suggesting—that he was just as vulnerable to the Dark Forest as she was. “Keep it,” he said, nodding to the knife.

Snow White lowered it, sick at the thought of being in the forest alone. As much as she hated to admit it, he was the only thing that comforted her now. He stepped through the trees and started down a narrow path to their left. “Where are you going?” she asked. They were supposed to go north for another mile—he’d said so himself.

He smiled at her, his gray eyes lighting up. He was older than her by five years, maybe more. His hair was knotted, and he stunk of grog. But standing there beside the tree, she saw a flicker of who he might have been before. He seemed calmer—happy, almost.

He pointed to a brown nugget just inches from his feet. “Fewmet.” He shrugged.

“Right.” Snow White laughed to herself. She hoped he didn’t notice the redness in her cheeks. “The fewmet calls.”

He started down the short path. Snow White stood there, watching him go, until his back disappeared behind the thick brush.

R
avenna lingered in the cloister garden, rubbing the back of her hand, where the skin looked aged and wrinkled. She closed her eyes for just a moment, and she saw what Finn saw. The visions came in quick flashes—a glimpse of a horse, an open wound in its side. The mercenaries were behind him, slashing through the thick undergrowth with their swords. Somewhere in the Dark Forest, a man screamed, the sound so shrill, it made the hair on her neck stand up.

She had tried to lead Finn over the dangerous terrain despite the limitations of her powers. Now that he was deep in the Dark Forest, she couldn’t sense as clearly where he was or whom he was with. The men’s faces were featureless. But in the passing hours, she had seen his silhouette cross a bog and move through a dense field of tall, rubbery grass.
He was alive, his shirt covering his mouth and nose as he came out of the stupor caused by the pollen.

The glimpses of the girl were what frightened her. Snow White was with him—that Huntsman—moving toward the forest’s edge. She didn’t seem hurt or even hindered by the dangerous woods. In only a few hours, they’d emerge from the undergrowth. And what if Finn did not? What if the Dark Forest devoured him as it had done with so many others? Who would retrieve the girl then?

Ravenna started back through the garden, her steps slow and deliberate. The grass was withered and brown. There was only a single blossom on the apple tree, as if the entire castle had been weakened as she had and was now vulnerable to time and death. She stared at the light pink flower, its petals wilting at the edges. It, too, would fall. The bloom would close eventually. The tree would rot from the inside out.

She pressed it between her fingers, twisting the bloom from the dry branch. The thin flower felt so soft and smooth. Then she closed her eyes, trying to harness her powers, leading her brother closer to the girl. “Find her,” she whispered as the petals fell apart in her hand.

Eric walked to the edge of the woods, where the thick trees dropped down a steep incline. He signaled for Snow White to follow. Then he shifted both axes to one hip and sat on the other, sliding down the muddy hill. He stumbled to the
bottom, the pain shooting through his side. Now that the grog was gone, his wound hurt more than it had before. Every turn and twist felt like another sword ripping through his flesh.

The fog was thinning out. He could barely decipher the structure a hundred feet off, just beyond a pile of large rocks. He moved toward it, climbing onto a boulder to get a better view. A stream snaked its way through the woods. A stone bridge connected both shores. There, beyond it, the Dark Forest finally ended. There were miles of open fields in every direction. “It can’t be this easy,” he muttered to himself.

He heard Snow White’s footsteps approaching behind him. “This is the end of the Dark Forest?” she asked.

Eric turned back to the woods. The massive trees towered above them. “Apparently,” he said, glancing at the bridge. This was the right way—he knew it was. He’d tracked the deer to this very spot. But now that they’d arrived, seeing the end of the forest less than a hundred feet away, it was hard to believe they’d made it. It was all over. They’d reached the other side. He looked at Snow White, his face breaking into a grin.

She started past him toward the bridge. She was practically running. “How far to the duke’s castle?” she called over her shoulder, her voice light.

Eric ran after her. He combed his hair with his fingers, enjoying the sun on his skin. The Dark Forest was so dense, he hadn’t felt it in a while. “Can’t be more than five miles straightaway,” he said, gesturing to the flock of birds circling on the horizon.

She looked at him and smiled. The late afternoon light streamed through the trees and cast a pink glow on her face. He knew she was beautiful—it was apparent the first time he saw her. But when he looked at her now, he realized she was oblivious to that fact. Though he’d never admit it, in some small way, it made her even more alluring. When she smoothed out the tangles in her hair or narrowed her dark eyes at him, looking as though he were the most dreadful human being alive, there was no playfulness in it. It wasn’t some cheap, tavern-girl act.

He rested his hand on his bottom rib, thankful the worst of the journey was over. If he could get her to the village a few miles in, they’d rest there. He’d deliver her to safety—that was enough. He couldn’t stick to their agreement. Carmathan was out of the question. In the worst of times, he’d stolen the duke’s supplies and traded his men to the Queen’s soldiers. It was too shameful to speak of out loud, but it was in the days when a drink mattered more than anything else. As soon as Snow White was safe, he’d disappear into the woods, whether or not she paid him. He’d leave before they faced the duke and his men. He’d be done with all of it—the Queen’s nasty business far behind him.

They started over the bridge, their shoulders nearly touching. The field spread out before them. The grass rippled in the wind. Behind him, the bubbling of the creek mixed with a dry, gravelly sound. He glanced back, looking for falling rocks. The bridge appeared to be shifting ever so slightly. The stone crumbled at the sides. Eric rested his
hand on Snow White’s arm, alerting her. They peered down at the shallow creek. There were hundreds of animal carcasses beneath the surface of the water. He could just make out a bear skull and the freshly chewed rib cage of a giant buck. The bones still glistened with blood.

The bridge started to shake. He knew what it was—the stories of the Dark Forest returned to him all at once. “Troll!” he yelled. The back of the bridge reared up. Eyes opened in the side of the stone. The giant beast had been curled into a ball, just waiting for them to cross. Eric grabbed Snow White’s arm and started toward the end of the Dark Forest, but it was still thirty feet away. They’d never make it in time.

The troll stood, sending them flying through the air. Eric slammed down hard in the shallow creek, crushing a broken skeleton under his weight. All the air left his lungs. He lay there, heaving, until he finally caught his breath. His clothes were soaked through, the frigid water sending chills through his entire body. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking for the girl. She’d landed in the muddy bank, her head dangerously close to a sharp rock.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she was looking behind him. He turned, following her gaze. The massive creature stood nearly twenty feet tall. Its gray mottled face stared down at them. The top of its head was horned, and its beady eyes were black as coal.

“Run!” Eric yelled, pulling himself onto his feet. Snow White darted out in front of him, and they both took off
down the creek bed. The giant followed behind, swinging his fists.

Every time the beast took a step, the earth shook. Eric stumbled to catch his footing, but soon the troll was right behind him.

“Go—get out of here!” he called to the girl. He nodded upstream. If she circled back around, she could be out of the Dark Forest in minutes.

She looked at him, uncertain.

“Just go,” he yelled. He pushed her away. Then he spun around, facing the giant monster. The troll stopped, its feet straddling the creek. Eric drew both axes, wielding one in each hand. He didn’t have time to think—he just ran at the thing, keeping the axes aimed at its legs.

The troll swung its arm at him. He ducked, and the creature’s fist grazed the top of his head. Eric landed both axes in the giant’s left leg, but they didn’t do any damage. The troll’s skin was thick and leathery. The axe blades only nicked it. The monster barely winced.

The giant peered down at him, a low grumbling sound escaping its lips. Then it grabbed Eric by the waist and hurled him down the creek. He slammed into the muddy streambed. He turned onto his side, his head throbbing and his whole body aching from the blow.

The troll started toward him. Eric looked down at his side, which was now covered with blood. The gash below his ribs had reopened. He pressed his hand to it, trying to stop the bleeding.

Within seconds, the troll was hovering over him, its stony face close enough that its hot, rotting breath ruffled his hair. It had yellow teeth that hung over its bottom lip. The giant pulled back its fist. Eric squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the final blow.

“Get away from him!” the girl screamed. Eric opened his eyes. Snow White was running down the creek, the water splashing up around her ankles. She held out her knife in front of her, just like he’d shown her. It looked so small and pathetic now. It was no bigger than the giant’s thumbnail.