Chapter 27: A Quiet Village
Many days had passed. Gaston counted twelve at least, but there was no telling how many it was outside the forest. The hunter had not wasted the time. After his first night in the camp, he had been in constant motion. With Lefou by his side, Gaston searched the far reaches of the woods, as far it would let him.
The frozen forest seemed to be at once limitless and finite. Outside of the camp, there was no tree he saw more than once, and yet he knew he did not travel far. It was a continuous frosty loop of trees and thickets and no matter how far he wandered by day, without fail or intention, he always returned to the camp by night.
After two or three times out, he and Lefou were no longer alone. The Men of the Vines, as he began to mentally refer to them, roamed with them.
At first, it was the youngest, Charles.
The lanky lad trailed after Gaston wherever he went. The hunter ignored it in the beginning until it was so painfully obvious that it had to be addressed.
"If you are planning on killing me, you will have to be quieter than that, boy." He had called lightly, toying with the blade at his side.
The curly-headed young man jumped up from behind the tree where he hid and raised his palms.
"No, sir. I wasn't planning on killing nobody, erm, anybody." He muttered in a tell-tale squeaky voice.
Gaston frowned and glanced at Lefou with a raised brow. "Do we believe the lad, Lefou? Or should we skewer the pup?"
Lefou, always wise to Gaston's games, turned back and stared at Charles with menacing eyes. Then, with all the intimidation the little man could muster, he sauntered forward and circled the boy.
"He's too scrawny to skewer. All skin 'n bones."
"Hmm." Gaston nodded and moved closer to get his own look at the youth. When his gaze traveled down to a scabbed-over wound on his arm, he smiled darkly. "It looks like I've already tried. That will teach you to lurk in the trees, boy."
Lefou gave a husky snicker and stepped back. "Yeah, better get your ma to wrap that, before it falls off!"
At his words, Charles' face fell and he turned quickly away, marching back to the rope ladder that led to his home. Lefou let loose a low rumble and shrugged good-naturedly. "Somethin' I said?"
"Yes, I fear it was." The inventor spoke softly as he made his way to where the two men stood. "Charles is a little sensitive about his mother, from what I can tell."
Lefou shrugged again and turned to continue filling his bag with salted pork and nuts for their travels.
Gaston looked down at Maurice and crossed his arms. "Better for him to toughen up now. There are worse things in the world than Lefou's bad jokes." Then he swung his own bag up on Barron's back and muttered. "Though not many."
"That may be true, Gaston. But the young man has been in these woods longer than I." Maurice turned and walked back to a shadowed corner of his tree. "And I fear there is more to his story than either of us knows."
Gaston pondered over Maurice's words that day. If the lad had been in the forest for that long, perhaps he might have a greater knowledge of the obvious spell it was under.
When he returned to camp that evening after a frustratingly useless journey, it was Gaston's turn to seek out Charles.
He found the youth in a clearing, sitting on a long and twisted root. The cold wind battered against the boy's face, causing it to redden, but he did not seem to notice the chill.
"We brought back dinner. Are you not hungry for berries and bird?" Gaston grinned down at him.
Charles jumped at the booming voice from above him and shook his head. His short, tangled curls bounced at the action, making the young man look even younger.
"How old are you, Charles?" Gaston inquired lightly.
Sitting up at to his full height, the boy spoke in a slightly deeper voice. "Fourteen. I'm pretty sure."
Gaston leaned back on a nearby tree and nodded. He expected as much. "And how long have you been within these trees?"
Charles looked away and kicked at a nearby chunk of frozen slush. "'Bout five years, I guess."
Gaston stood up sharply at the boy's words. "Five years, wandering these woods?"
A startled Charles looked over at him and nodded. "I think so. Was never much good at counting. Mama used to say I had a mind for words, not numbers."
Gaston sat down beside him and shook his head in disbelief. With a low curse, he stared at the kid with new eyes. He had been lost for years, and yet, survived. "How did it happen, Charles?"
Charles bit his lower lip and ran a thin hand through his mess of curls. It took him a while to talk, but Gaston waited silently, patiently, for the boy.
"I was looking for my Ma. She's a maid at the castle. She works real hard so I could go to school. I didn't see her much. Spent most my time with my Papa. But she came home one day a week to check on me and Pa and make sure we was doing okay. Then she just stopped coming. Same thing happened to most of us, really. Lots of us were missing people who worked in the castle. Lots of us come looking for them. But anyway, that's what I did too. My Pa got sick and didn't get better. My Ma never came home. After I lost him," Charles paused and began pulling his long curls over his eyes.
Gaston thoughtfully ignored the younger man's tears and looked at the brittle grass that poked out of the softening snow. Charles cleared his throat loudly and continued in a huskier voice. "Af-after Pa passed, I left school and went to find my Ma. I never got to the castle."
Gaston felt his chest tighten for the boy. Five years trapped in this godforsaken forest! He thought, outraged. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and nodded.
"Well, tomorrow you come with me. Let's get you to that castle, Charles."
The boy smiled a watery grin at the hunter and nodded before standing and wiping at his damp pants. "Thanks, um…"
"Gaston." Gaston supplied, standing as well.
"Thanks, Gaston. I think I'm ready to eat now. Berries and, uh, birds." He grinned again and started walking away before pausing and looking back at the enormous man behind him. "By the way, I hate the name Charles, you can call me Chip, like my Pa." Then the young man turned and headed straight for the leftover food.
Gaston watched him go and went to his bedroll by the fire. He had a lot to think about and some planning to do. If his hunch was right, and he was almost positive it was, he would need all his wits and strength to meet what was to come.
By morning the boy was ready to go. He proved to be a helpful, if talkative, companion. Even Lefou grew to appreciate Chip's knowledge of the wildlife of the woods.
As he spoke on their first outing, many things became clear.
First, it was always winter in the woods. He had not seen a summer since before his father died.
Second, there was plenty of game within the trees, but most of the men only knew how to trap, not hunt, hence the haggard appearance of the group.
Third, there was something prowling the woods at night. Chip didn't like to speak of it, but something came as the men slept and ransacked the camp and destroyed any unprotected belongings. One of the men even had a horse that was dismembered after a terrible night on the ground. Chip could still hear its screams, he said, in his dreams.
After the first ride or so, others began to join them, leaving only Maurice and the stubborn Orang, Jasper, to watch the camp. Gaston was not sure how he felt about so much company, but more eyes were better than none.
When the men asked what they were looking for, Gaston surprised them with his answer.
Light.
The fire flamed long after the men had wandered to their beds. Gaston stared into the sparks, absently sharpening an arrow into a deadly point. He was deceptively alert to every sound in the darkened woods. The night animals fluttered overhead and scurried underfoot. The hunter listened. The breathing of the men within their high dwellings drifted down to his ears. He counted them, still cautious of their whereabouts at all times.
The men were no match for him physically. Most seemed barely able to carry themselves, much less a weapon, so thin and scrawny were their frames. Gaston frowned as he recalled their gaunt, pitiful faces. They were the faces of men who were without hope. Gaston shook his head and stood, tossing his arrow violently into the frozen dirt.
It didn't make sense. He thought for the hundredth time. If he had not seen the evidence for himself, he wouldn't believe it at all. But there was no denying the incredible change in the inventor, or the eyes of the Men of the Vines. Or Chip.
Gaston let his gaze drift into the shadows around him and knew that the most compelling truth was what he alone could feel as he looked out into the trees. The burning heat, the electric flare that made the hair on his arms rise. The forest was under the curse of the Enchantress.
Looking back, he had known for a while. As he and Lefou led their horses around in circles, he knew something was wrong. He felt it in his gut. He was never lost. His inner direction was flawless. And yet…and yet the instinct that he relied upon lied to him. Every turn proved false, every step, a misstep.
Gaston moved closer to the trees and watched as the cold breeze lifted the branches and rattled the crystal icicles that hung from them.
His body jolted as his eyes pulled tight and he peered deeper, noticing a small light beyond. After taking a determined step toward it, he suddenly stopped. He was no longer alone. There were now only five people breathing overhead and he waited for the other to step into view.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He asked over his shoulder.
"Shouldn't you?" The inventor responded before bending and warming himself by the fire. "Besides, age does not allow for sleep the way youth does. Old men prefer to rest sitting up at meals or during long, boring conversations. There is no easier way to escape a gossip, than with slumber."
Gaston smirked and nodded. "I will keep that in mind." When he looked back into the trees the light was gone. With a grunt, he turned and strode to the fire and Belle's father.
With long-practiced skill, the hunter added more logs to the fire and shifted the embers to release the warmth onto the fragile old man.
"Thank you, son," Maurice muttered, rubbing his hands over the traveling heat. "I never could control a fire. Something to do with absentmindedness, I suppose. It would always either flare or die." The man gave a small laugh and shook his head. "Belle would always tend them at home. Such a helpful girl. Though there was this one time when she was reading…"
"Yes?" Gaston encouraged, instantly knowing that what was to follow would be the story Belle referred to during her refusal. He felt a sharp stab to the heart, but a part of him needed Maurice to continue.
There must have been something in his tone that caused the old inventor to turn to him with large, sad eyes. It took him a minute to speak again.
"Belle was reading one of her mysteries. I'm sure you remember the one, she didn't put it down for six months. About some sword or another?"
"I know the one." Gaston laughed deeply and shook his head. "Heavy thing. Not the best book to get thrown at your head, if I recall it right. Though I'm sure I deserved it."
Maurice let out a rusty laugh and nodded. "I'm sure you did. Well, she was certain she was going to find the old relic's location in that book and read those pages over and over again. I'm sure she bathed with it, though she'd kill me if she knew I mentioned it!"
"She would." Gaston agreed, hiding his grin behind his palm as he rubbed his jaw with calloused fingers.
"Ah well. Anyway, I came home one day from town to find the cottage filled with smoke. It was billowing out the windows and fireplace in heavy black clouds. I was sure something I created had exploded. I rushed inside, searching for my girl, and what do I find? Belle. Sitting on the back porch, book in hand, pouring water over what was left of my clothes. Apparently, she thought it was stew and had added fat to the pot. The new soap I had been experimenting with reacted instantly, bubbling into the fire and sending flames and smoke throughout the room."
"I remember that day. I rushed over with my father and the other men of the village. We were told you had a mishap in your lab."
The old man shrugged and grinned knowingly.
Gaston shook his head and stared into the fire. Then his smile slowly faded and he looked up at Maurice over the flames. "I asked her to marry me, you know."
The inventor leaned back in silence, letting his eyes wander across Gaston's face. "I know son. I'm sorry."
Gaston didn't ask how he knew, or how he guessed her answer. He simply nodded and reached for another arrow to sharpen.
For a moment neither of them spoke and the crackling of the embers were the only sounds in the camp. Then Gaston began to scrap against the arrow with his silver dagger in long, powerful strips.
"I will get you back to her, Maurice." He promised quietly. An hour later the old man went back to bed, and the hunter went into the woods.
A.N All rights belong to Walt Disney
Hello, readers! Oh poor Chip! How do you feel about this new band of brothers? Are you interested in reading more about them?Let me know your thoughts and maybe you can sit by the firelight with Gaston!
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