The Woodcutter (12 page)

The Giant threw the Woodcutter and a few tree trunks into the wood box.

“A mousy-like tree that was eatin’ at my clouds.”

The Giantess fixed the Woodcutter with her one good eye, “A little mousy tree?”

“Smells like a tree. Eats like a mouse. Figure it’s a new breed.”

She let out a wheezing, hacking laugh, “A new breed of tree? You’re a fool.”

She turned around and hit the Giant over the head with her wooden spoon, “He’s no such thing. He’s a twig of wood that got too close to that dust of yours. Now if you’ll set the table, I’ll finish getting supper ready.”

The Giant heaved a heavy sigh and turned to take the large saucers from the shelf.

The Woodcutter sat himself down upon a log, took his knife from his side, and set upon whittling a stray branch as the Giant and his wife settled into dinner.

An uneasy silence fell upon the two as they slurped down their soup.

“Did you see the old Crone today?”

The Giant grunted, “I mwenft…”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. I said, did you see the Crone today? That dust field of yours is blowing into my petunias and I swear to goodness one of them bit my ankle and now it’s all swollen up.”

The Giant put down his bread and swallowed.

The Woodcutter leaned forward.

“I did just as you said. Over the hill. Into the woods. Left at the great tree. But I didn’t find no Crone.”

The Giantess threw her bread at his head, “You old fool. Over the hill?”

“Yes.”

“Into the woods?”

“Yes.”

“Left at the great tree?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you did something wrong.”

“I didn’t do nuthin’ wrong.”

“I swear to goodness, a body has to do everything herself around here. You worthless piece of…”

“Now, don’t you go sayin’ anything ugly.”

“Are you calling me ugly?”

“Now, that isn’t what I said…”

“I think you just did. I was sitting right here and I heard you.”

The Woodcutter carved the instructions into a scrap of bark and placed it in his pocket, but leapt to his feet at the Giant’s cry, “Fee! Fi! Fo! Fum! I smell the blood of a human!”

The Giantess whacked him in the side of the arm, “Sit down, you old fool. That’s just the roast.”

The Giant sat, but his eyes wandered around the kitchen.

“If you’re going to sit there jumping out of your skin, you can do it in the other room. This attitude of yours is souring my stomach.”

The Giant threw down his spoon, “Woman, I give you a good life.”

The Giantess threw down her spoon, “You give me no such thing.”

“Look at this house.”

“We live in a rat hole.”

“Look at your garden.”

“Weedy mess.”

“What more do you want?” he roared.

“You are a stingy old bastard and I should have listened to my father.”

The Giant stood, knocking over his chair.

The Woodcutter’s eyes caught a flash of brown hair ducking behind a broom in the corner.

“My father was twice the man you’ll ever be!” said the Giantess.

The Giant walked over to the cupboard and threw open the door, “If it weren’t for me working my fingers to the bone to farm these dust fields for that Queen, we’d be living in the woods like that Crone.” He grabbed a heavy, jangling sack and threw it upon the table. Gold coins the size of watermelons spilled upon the floor, “Here. Take it. Take it all. If that will make you shut your clap trap for one blessed moment…”

“Clap trap?!? CLAP TRAP!!!”

Her eyes never left the Giant as she grabbed the broom from the corner, revealing the hiding place of a scrawny human boy with chestnut colored curls. His face, down to his very freckles, drained of color as he stood, frozen in fear.

The Woodcutter, ever keeping an eye on the fighting couple, motioned for the boy to run to the woodpile.

The Giantess began raining blows upon the Giant’s head, “Don’t you darken my doorway again!”

“Your doorway!?? I built this house with my own two hands, woman!”

The Giant began throwing cups and saucers. Huge fragments rained down upon the ground as the Giantess broke them with her broom handle as fast as the Giant could hurl.

The boy dodged the debris as he ran towards the woodpile. He crouched beside the Woodcutter, shaking in fright.

A faint niggling sensation itched at the back of the Woodcutter.

The Woodcutter set down his pack.

His hands rested for a moment and then pulled out the gift of the peddler.

Carefully, he unwrapped it.

A harp.

It was a golden harp with a woman trapped upon the pillar. She looked at him, eyes full of trust and pleading.

The Woodcutter sat the harp upon his lap. He laid his fingers upon the strings.

And then plucked.

The voice of the woman of the harp rang out in accompaniment to the music.

At once, the Giant and Giantess stopped.

Their arms lowered and their eyes glazed over.

Their knees became weak and soon they were upon the floor, snoring like bears.

The Woodcutter stopped playing and the Giants began to stir.

He placed his fingers upon the harp once more. He turned to the young boy and whispered, “What’s your name?”

The boy swallowed hard, “Jack.”

The Woodcutter smiled at the frightened boy, “Well, Jack. I am afraid that this beanstalk is my fault. I gave some beans to a peddler and I believe he sold them to you.”

Jack nodded.

“It seems that as long as someone plays this instrument, the harp will sing them to sleep. Do you know how to play the harp, Jack?” the Woodcutter asked.

Jack shook his head no. He was trying so hard to be brave.

The Woodcutter transferred the harp to Jack’s lap, “Well, Jack, now seems just as good a time as any for you to learn.”

Jack’s fingers were hard and discordant upon the strings and the woman’s voice changed.

The Giants began to stir once more.

The Woodcutter could see the young boy begin to panic.

He placed a hand upon Jack’s shoulder and took a hand in his, “Gentle, son. Gentle.”

Son
.

The Woodcutter caught himself.

Jack’s fingers strummed more quietly and the Giants settled back into snoring.

The Woodcutter turned to the lady of the harp, “Milady, this boy here has never had the pleasure of meeting one such as yourself. I would ask that you help him to keep the music sweet.”

She nodded, her voice not changing her tune.

The Woodcutter turned to Jack, “I have to leave.”

A horrible note came from the harp.

The Giants snorted before rolling over.

“But I will be back. You must play until I return. You must play no matter what. There is only so long that the Giant will believe your smell is just the pot roast. You know that, don’t you?”

Jack nodded seriously.

“I will not be long.”

The Woodcutter dashed across the floor and out to the path as fast as his legs would carry him.

Chapter 35

The Woodcutter had walked over the hill and into the woods, and had taken a left at the great tree. He walked into the clearing. Settled into the earth was a round-bottomed fortress with many chimneys and windows, but no door. A fence of human bones marked the border of the yard from the forest.

He had not understood when Oberon and Titania had told him to seek the Crone. He had not understood that they meant the Crone. If he had known, he wondered if he would have come. But he was here, so the Woodcutter opened the gate and walked in.

He looked up at the blank wall of the fortress. His power in the Kingdom of the Clouds was less than that in the Twelve Kingdoms, but he opened his mouth and commanded, “Turn your back to the forest, your front to me.”

The fortress creaked and groaned and, slowly, it spun until the back was to the front and the front was to the back and before the Woodcutter was a door.

The Woodcutter stepped forward to knock, noting the gnashing teeth in the keyhole, but turned quickly as a crashing sound tore through the trees.

Riding upon a stone mortar the size of a grown man was a lovely woman with dark black hair. The mortar sailed upon the ground like a ship on the ocean, directed by a pestle the woman used a as a rudder. The mortar flew into the front yard and the maiden leapt off, as graceful as an acrobat. She regarded the Woodcutter sharply as the mortar put itself away behind the fortress. She sniffed the air, “You are a man, yet smell of a tree. That means you can be only one being. Good afternoon, Woodcutter.”

The woman was young, but she could not deceive the Woodcutter’s eye.

The Woodcutter bowed, “Baba Yaga.”

The maiden laid her finger on the side of her nose, “What brings you so far into the Kingdom of the Clouds?”

“I have been told to seek the Crone.”

Even as he said it, her shape began sagging, turning from young to old. Baba Yaga sighed as her breasts dropped and her waist expanded.

“They said this Kingdom in the Clouds was full of blue roses, a supply large enough to make tea to keep my youth forever. I am afraid they lied.” She looked at the Woodcutter, “But the memory of the maiden is still fresh. You are lucky. You shall reap the benefits of the Maiden’s kindness, but also the wisdom of the Crone.”

Baba Yaga walked to her house. The teeth in the keyhole quieted themselves as the door swung open. Unbidden, the Woodcutter followed her in. With each step, the woman aged, adding a wrinkle to her face.

The Woodcutter felt invisible hands upon his arm, removing his heavy pack from his back. He thanked the invisible servant. The bone fence was made of those heroes who had not minded their manners. Baba Yaga was no mere faerie. She was the Dark Lady, the Wild One. With a tea made of blue roses, she was the Maiden, kind and loving. As the Crone, she was a formidable enemy.

Indeed, the Woodcutter was lucky he had found her when he did.

Baba Yaga flung herself into a crude rocker, the Crone taking over, and snapped at him, “Well, why are you here then? Why have you come to bother me?”

“A question, Baba Yaga.”

She nodded towards a chair, indicating the Woodcutter was allowed to sit. Two bowls of stew floated through the air and landed upon two small trays set up beside the chairs.

The stew was green and smelled of dead things. Baba Yaga took the bowl and began shoveling the foul concoction into her mouth. She motioned to the Woodcutter to eat, eyeing him as he lifted the spoon to his mouth.

The stew was slime and rot. The Woodcutter smiled as he swallowed.

Baba Yaga cackled, “You’re a strong one, Woodcutter, to eat the meal presented by the Dark Lady. You are so polite to your host. Such a shame. I would have used you as my Yule log come the heart of winter.”

The Woodcutter picked up his spoon and ate another bite, smacking his lips appreciatively.

Baba Yaga pounded upon her knee, “Indeed, you have earned yourself a question.”

She pulled a pipe from her apron and struggled to light it, her clawed fingers fumbling. Baba Yaga puffed, hacking and coughing a bit before settling in, “Well, what do you want? State your question.”

“King Oberon and Queen Titania sent me.”

Baba Yaga smiled, “Old Oberon and Titania sent you? My, I haven’t talked to them in years. We used to ride the Midsummer Eve together…” She chuckled softly, “Once, we asked Odin if he had ever hunted snipe…”

“They said you would know how to stop a hellhound who no longer responds to Odin’s call.”

Baba Yaga stopped rocking and looked at the Platinum Ax that hung from the Woodcutter’s side, “Terrible times, they are. Terrible times if a Woodcutter has to get an Ax from a River God.” She peered forward, shaking her pipe at him, “You’re lucky you didn’t lose your father’s ax getting that thing. You didn’t lose it, did you? You show it to me. Show me it is fine.”

The Woodcutter took his father’s ax from his other side. Baba Yaga reached out and touched it fondly with one finger, “My, I never thought I would see this again. Your great-great-great grandfather was a good man and never you forget it. He could eat the entire bowl of my stew.”

She leaned back, taking another puff of her pipe and hacking some more before closing her eyes, “That I should see the day that a hellhound won’t come to his master…that a Woodcutter should be forced to round up a puppy…”

She opened her eyes and pointed at the Woodcutter, “There’s a way, but are you willing?”

The Woodcutter did not hesitate, “I would not be here otherwise.”

She leaned forward, staring at him dead in the eye, “Why? Why are you so concerned about Odin losing one of his mutts?”