Jane and the Dragon belongs to Martin Baynton and Weta
The Cover artwork by keylimecliche can be viewed in all its glory on her tumblr.
The caravan bounced and jostled as it travelled over the rough forest road, but Jane had become accustomed to the motion and barely noticed. She sat on one of the two beds, equipment spread around her as she sorted through it and repacked her bag. It was busywork, really; something for her hands to do while her mind was otherwise occupied.
Gunther lay on the bed opposite, and she glanced across regularly, studying him with critical eyes. It had been a day and a bit since they had rejoined the Travellers, although to Jane it felt much longer.
Harman had returned to the clearing with a small army of men, several to help carry Gunther and the rest, it seemed to Jane, to gawk at the body of the werewolf.
Sabina had truly begun giving orders then, and had scarcely stopped since. Gunther had been loaded blankets and all onto a stretcher and carted back to the camp, leaving Jane to gather their belongings and follow behind with Sabina, while the rest of the party remained in the clearing.
When they arrived back at the camp it was to a flurry of activity. The camp fires had been stoked back to life and pots of water set to boil above them. Jane had been relieved of the bags she was carrying by Kezia, but when she moved to follow Gunther's stretcher she was instead guided by Rose to a screened off bathtub.
"You must let Sabina work," said Rose firmly over Jane's protests. "And you will frighten the children looking like that." She added, one eyebrow raised in emphasis as she looked Jane up and down.
"But Gunther-" began Jane.
"-Is in good hands," said Rose, placing her hands on her hips.
"I can change my clothes," Jane reasoned.
"You smell," replied Rose shortly. "Now, will you be undressing yourself, or will I?"
Jane sighed in frustration and defeat, looking down at her bloodstained clothes. "Fine."
The bath was hot and smelled of fragrant herbs, but the water quickly discoloured as Jane began scrubbing angrily, cleaning her skin more thoroughly than the cold pond had allowed.
"There are more important things to be done right now," she muttered, scratching at her fingernails with a coarse brush.
"And they are being attended to," said Kezia, reappearing to gather Jane's discarded clothes -gingerly. "These are ruined." She said, bundling them together and holding them as far from her body as possible. "Thankfully the fires are burning hot." She added, walking away.
"Do not dare," said Jane, half rising from the bath, but the girl was gone behind the screen and Jane had no option but to sink back into the water, unless she wished to give chase to her soiled clothing through the crowded camp while naked and dripping wet.
She gave the option due consideration but the warm, fragrant water had begun to sap what little energy remained after her long night, and she bid a mental farewell to her clothes as she leaned back against the tub.
She closed her eyes -Just for a moment- and fished absently in the bath for her discarded scrubbing brush, only to be startled upright, spluttering, as a bucket of fresh water was upended over her head.
"What a mess," tutted Rose above her, tugging at her hair.
"What are you doing?" Spluttered Jane, wiping her eyes as her head was yanked this way and that.
"Your hair," replied Rose, as though it was obvious.
Kezia returned, a bucket of water in each hand, and joined her sister in assessing the tangled mop of curls.
"It is nearly as bad as his," she sighed, pulling a comb from the pocket of her apron.
"Yes, but salvageable," said Rose, taking the comb and applying it to Jane's hair with a firm hand.
"I would not be so sure," said Kezia as the comb snagged.
"Ouch!" Hissed Jane, but got no sympathy from her attendants.
"This will be over much faster if you sit still," Rose told her, while Kezia rolled up her sleeves.
Exhaling deeply, Jane drew her legs up against her body, folded her arms across her knees and rested her chin upon them. She closed her eyes and thought of bath times in her mother's chambers when she was just a child, while the two sisters bickered and worked above her.
As promised, the torture had ended a short time later and Jane had been permitted to dress in peace. Clad once again in a colourful skirt and blouse with her hair tightly braided, she made her way back through the main camp, looking for a hive of activity to signal Gunther's location. Instead she found Vadoma, perched on her sedan chair, her throne as Jane had come to think of it, watching her with twinkling eyes.
"Grandmother," said Jane in greeting. "Can you tell me where Gunther is?"
"Ah, Jane, I see Kezia and Rose have taken good care of you," said Vadoma cheerfully. "I find their duties in caring for the goats have made them quite adept at dealing with the most stubborn characters; I do hope they were not too forceful with you."
"They were . . . efficient," said Jane shortly. "Do you know where he is?"
"Over there," said Vadoma, eyes still sparkling as she nodded towards a caravan.
"Thank you!" Jane called over her shoulder as she set off at a trot.
Sabina was exiting the caravan as Jane approached, and they met at the door.
"How is he?" Jane asked, standing on the step.
"Resting," Sabina replied, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. "We have done what we can; the rest is up to him."
"May I . . . ?" Jane gestured towards the door.
"Of course." Sabina stepped aside, and if she said anything else Jane didn't hear her.
She stepped into the van, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as she found Gunther lying on the bed.
"Oh, no," breathed Jane.
He was still asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly under herbal poultices and blankets. He was cleaner now; perhaps he had been bathed too. He had been shaved, and the absence of hair highlighted his sunken cheeks. Another poultice was laid across his forehead, above which . . . .
"Oh, your hair."
It had been cropped off close to his head, and the sight upset Jane as much as anything else she had seen in the last 24 hours.
She could not have said why it bothered her so much, beyond knowing that Gunther had his own sense of vanity; but perhaps it had something to do with his hair being such a recognisable part of him, and now it, too was gone.
Was anything left of Gunther in the man lying on that bed? Jane certainly hoped so.
So Jane had watched, and waited, between being ushered out by Sabina and her helpers so they could swap Gunther's poultices over, or drip herbal teas into his mouth. The day drew to a close with little sign of change in his condition, and Jane was once again forced to sleep in Kezia and Rose's caravan, although she got little rest between her own worries and the girls rising to help a doe deliver triplets in the dead of night. The smallest and weakest of the kids had even been brought back and tucked into bed with Rose, at which point Jane had abandoned all hope of sleep.
Instead she had lain in bed, running through the events of the previous night in her mind. It was difficult to believe everything that had happened in such a short span of time. It was almost humorous to consider the hopeful mood she had set out in to seek Gunther, and the woeful state she found him in. Yet he had persevered -somehow he had done it.
Their conversation had been a strange one, full of urgency but so few answers.
"I am sorry, Jane, there is more to say but time is short. I left a note for you with my things." He had said.
Jane chewed her lip as she remembered. Where were his things? Beside his bed along with her own bag. She resolved to search for the note as soon as the sun rose.
She had found the note, or at least she suspected she had, but it provided no answers and many more questions. It sat beside her on the bed as she finished sorting her belongings and packed them away, having done Gunther's earlier.
She was beyond weary now; nights with little sleep and days filled with stress catching up with her. She would have to plan ahead soon if . . . there were no changes. Should she beg a horse and ride ahead to the castle, leaving Gunther in the care of the Travellers? Or should she remain beside him and continue home at this agonising pace? What if he woke up after she left, or worse . . . what if he never woke up at all?
"Wake up and tell me what to do," she said softly. "Just this once I promise to listen to your advice."
Jane sank back onto the bed and lay on her side, watching Gunther's profile. Even breaths in, even breaths out, steady and unchanging. Unconsciously Jane's breathing began to match his, and she drifted off to a sleep filled with shadowy monsters, ponds filled with blood, and familiar grey eyes.
The carriage bounced over a rut in the road and Jane jolted upright, heart racing, and looked around the tiny space. Beams of sunlight still danced along the walls, their neatly packed bags still sat on the floor and Gunther remained in place, watching her.
Jane swung her feet to the floor, blinking sleep from her eyes and not quite believing.
"Gunther?" She asked softly.
He groaned faintly in response.
"You are awake!" Jane jumped to her feet, unsure what to do.
"Drink," he croaked out.
"Y-yes, of course."
There was a bottle and cup waiting in a rack on the wall for just this moment, and Jane returned quickly to raise the cup to Gunther's cracked lips, supporting his head with her other hand. He drank in tiny, desperate mouthfuls, until Jane took the drink away.
She watched him for a moment, lowering his head back to the pillow, where he closed his eyes in exhaustion.
"I should go get Sabina," Jane said, standing. "She will help you more than I can."
She turned to go, but froze when Gunther's fingers brushed against her own.
"Impossible . . . Jane," he said, before licking his lips. "Thank you."
Then he smiled, a lop-sided, distinctly Gunther-ish smile, and relief flooded through Jane.
"Welcome back," she said softly.
Stepping out of the van and onto the landing Jane pulled the door closed behind her and leant back against it. She took a deep breath as a smile spread across her face.
"Thank goodness," she breathed out, before tripping lightly down the steps and setting off to find Sabina.
Gunther's strength began to return in the days that followed, bolstered by many hearty meals and increasing amounts of time spent outside.
He had gathered a following of young traveller men who were impressed or downright awed by his brave feat of killing the werewolf and saving them all from its inevitable wrath. They flocked around him whenever he was out of his van, talking about weapons and food with equal passion and challenging him to archery contests once he was more recovered.
Gunther for his part seemed to enjoy their company more than their admiration, talking happily with them and laughing at their jokes. Jane watched from across the camp fire one evening as he ate his third bowl of stew, deep in conversation with Harman and several others. Dressed in traveller clothing he blended right in and looked like just one young man among many.
Of course, Jane knew that wasn't quite true.
"What does this say?" She had asked the day after he woke up, holding out the note he had left behind in the clearing.
He was sitting up on the bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, pale and gaunt but alert.
"Do not mock me, Jane," he had pleaded in response when he realised what she was holding.
"I-I am not," she had replied, confused. "I just want to know what you wanted to tell me."
"You . . . cannot read it?" He asked in apparent surprise.
"You can?" Jane had shot back, waving the piece of bark at him. It was criss-crossed with scratches, claw marks, really, in no discernible pattern.
Gunther stared at the note, blinking as his eyes seemed to refocus.
" . . . huh." He said eventually. "It seems I can read werewolf."
"You wrote me a message in werewolf?" Jane had asked in exasperation. "How was I ever supposed to read it?"
"Fortunately, I am here to deliver it in person after all," Gunther laughed weakly.
"So what does it say?" Jane held it up for him to read.
"Nothing, really," he had replied, colour rising to his cheeks. "I was rather confused by then, clearly. I mean, I wrote a note you could not even read, and it was nonsense, truly."
Jane had pestered him further but Gunther had refused to read the message and was eventually rescued by Sabina who insisted on him resting. Jane had tucked the piece of bark away in her bag where it remained even now.
Her musings on the subject were interrupted and Jane was bought back to the present by Vadoma, who had evidently come to sit beside her during her reverie.
"It must be a great relief to him,"said the old woman, watching Gunther.
"Mmm," agreed Jane absent mindedly, before shaking her head. "Sorry-what?"
"Such a heavy burden, finally lifted from those broad shoulders," she gestured at Gunther. "It must be a relief."
"Umm," Jane felt as though she were walking into a trap, but decided to plough ahead anyway. "Which burden?"
"It is one thing for a boy to hope he will grow to be a good man, despite his own shortcomings and those of his family, but it is another thing to be put to the test, to face a great temptation, and resolve to be a good man. He proved to himself at last that despite his struggles he is indeed a good man." Vadoma smiled at Jane. "A very good man. Handsome, too." She added, wriggling her non-existent eyebrows.
Jane rolled her eyes in response before looking back at Gunther. It was true that he seemed to carry a new sense of self-assurance with him, less cocky and obnoxious and more calm, certain. She was pleased for him, truly, if what Vadoma had said was true, although Jane had not thought about Gunther like that before. Had he really thought he might become like his father? But then, if Jane was honest with herself she had to admit to harbouring similar suspicions herself, before . . . before everything changed.
She looked back at Vadoma. "If you knew all along, why did you not simply tell him what he must do? You could have spared him a lot of suffering."
"The old ways are fickle, my dear," Vadoma stared into the fire, still smiling as she spoke. "It would not be a sacrifice if he knew he would survive, and then it would not work. Yes, blood and sacrifice, that is how to appease the ancient magic."
"It was cruel," said Jane, reproachfully.
"Oh, yes," Vadoma agreed. "Certainly for the monster."
The fire crackled merrily, its light dancing around the camp, shifting eerily across the giant pelt stretched out to dry on a frame suspended from a tree. Jane shuddered when she saw it, as she always did.
She had learned at last what Harman's party had remained behind in the clearing for, when they presented the werewolf skin to Gunther several days after he had woken up. They had begun the tanning process, the flesh scraped away to leave only skin and hair, but the sight was no less disquieting to Jane, who had recoiled in horror upon realising what it was.
Gunther, however, seemed to appreciate the morbid gift, responding enthusiastically as the boys told him the gory details of its preparation.
"I can finally believe it, now," he had told Jane when they were alone. "It truly is dead. It is gone from my head forever!"
He had smiled at her so broadly then that Jane decided to bite her tongue and smile back. Gunther had earned his trophy, and his peace of mind, so Jane would let him have it.
She looked back across the fire at Gunther as he laughed at something one of the other boys was saying, when he looked up and met her gaze. He gave a smile, small but true and meant for her, before returning to his conversation.
Something unknown fluttered in the pit of Jane's stomach.