9, 12, 15 April 2006
I wrote three little fics instead of working on this. I'm sorry. I have the three main characters in this chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own No Rest for the Wicked ( w w w . f o r t h e w i c k e d . n e t ). This comic belongs to Andrea L. Peterson.
Chapter 2
November stood before the oven, hot, exhausted, and disgusted. She kept her hands away from the sullied door. The images that had been conjured up when she touched it, all of those poor children... She shuddered, clasping her hands together. She hadn't thought far enough and now realised that her only hope of escaping was for Perrault to somehow get her out.
"...came to live here...?"
November's head lifted. She hadn't heard the beginning of the question. She took one step forward, her ears open to the sound of the old woman's voice and to a strange sound that she couldn't discern. The fire roared and she felt panic spread in her chest.
"...you and your brother..."
November took another small step. She could reach the door easily if she ran fast enough. Her arms fell to her side. She could escape -she knew what had happened to all those poor children, Perrault had probably gotten Hansel out already. There was nothing left to do here.
"...check the oven?"
November froze. Over the crackling fire she could hear the old woman's footsteps. All plans of escape were abandoned and replaced with how to survive the next few moments.
As the night progressed the rain lightened considerably, although she suspected that there was only a slight change and was just a trick that her tired body was playing on her. She trudged on, unsure of why she was till going, but going anyway. She lifted her weary head, willing to look one last time for the night if there was any shelter before considering going back home.
Up ahead, very faint in the rain, was yellow orb of light. Her body ached at the thought of a bed. She lifted her legs, moving somewhat faster than before. She found herself at the door, unable to explain how she had gotten there so fast, but felt no reason to hesitate. She pounded the door with her fists, barely able to hear them. She called out desperately, but still no one came. They lights were on, but no one was home. She stared the door, the tears welling up. Why she felt the need to cry she did not know, but all she wanted was to get dry. She stared at the door then thought to see if the door was open. She twisted the knob and the door opened easily.
Instantly she ran into the cozy little home, water puddling round her skirts. She shivered and looked longingly at the fire.
"Allo?" she called out.
For a moment there was no answer before a sweet, quiet voice said, "Yes? Who is it?"
A young woman, possibly one year younger, entered the room.
"Why, hello. What brings you to my home?"
"I need a place to stay the night."
"Of course," the other girl replied. "My name is Goldia. May I inquire as to what is yours?"
She was taken aback. Her tongue was good, far too good for someone who lived in the forest.
"Oh, how rude of me. You are probably tired and hungry. And very wet, from the looks of it!" Goldia laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, like soft bell. "Come by the fire. I shall fetch you something dry to dress in."
She thanked Goldia and waited till the comely girl returned with a soft cotton dress before peeling off her sopping clothes and changing.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"Think nothing of it," Goldia said, waving a hand. "It is the least I can do."
Goldia sat in her chair, rocking as she pulled a brush through her thick blonde hair. Goldia smiled and left to bring food. Again, she thanked Goldia.
"Whose home is this?" she asked.
"It is mine," Goldia said. "It hadn't always been mine. At first, it belonged to a family of three. They loved one another, but were unkind to others. I had been unfortunate to come across them in my youth. But I did intrude, and so I suppose that they were justified in their anger. I was tired and lost and came across this place. I had no intentions of ever coming back, but I found my way."
"How did you end up living here?"
Goldia sighed. "I became lost once more. Try as I would I could not find the way back home, and was forced to come back here. I believe I was fortunate, though: this house was empty when I came and stayed empty. It is now mine. I am careful about locking the doors and windows, except for tonight it seems." Goldia gave her a strange smile.
She shuddered. Goldia laughed.
"Oh, please, I hope that you know that I do not mean to frighten you. It is merely fact. Now, come, I shall show you where you shall sleep."
She complied willingly, following Goldia into the spacious kitchen and settling down on a small cot. Goldia said her goodnights and retired upstairs to her own bed. She lay on the cot, tired. Her eyelids dipped dangerously low, and her overworked body buzzed with pain, but she could not fall asleep. She got up and stood before the fire until her clothes were finally dry just before daybreak.
Red approached the door quietly, a rigid, silent anger buning gently. She hadn't expected much from that cat, but she had thought that he would have more sense to keep November away. She placed her hand on the door knob. It probably had been too much to expect even that from him.
When she had hunted wolves she knew that sneaking up on them and killing them quickly -painlessly was an option- was the best appraoch, but this was a matter that needed to be dealt more delicately. She placed her basket down on the door step and retrieved her axe, concealing it beneath her red cloak. This may be needed to be dealt more delicately, but back-ups never hurt anyone.
She pressed her ear to the door, hearing snatches of the old woman's one-sided conversation.
"...check the oven?"
Red 's eyes widened ever so slightly. Her grip tightened on the door knob, ready to yank it open. She listened carefully, her gip slackening as she heard the receding footsteps. Slowly, gently, she eased open the door and stepped inside, far more careful than she had ever been in her life.
The old woman suddenly stopped and moved away, back to whatever task she had been doing. November released a breath of air that she not known she had been holding. She looked at the door, thoughts of escape coming back, and she stilled.
Her hands clutched her outer skirt, eyes growing wide at the sight of Red standing in the doorway. A shiver caught hold of her, raising the hair on the back of her neck. There was something menacing about the way Red stood in the doorway so quietly, both hands hidden underneath her cloak. She looked back in the direction of the old woman, and felt Red's eyes on her.
"Could you check the temperture, Gretel?"
Red moved across the floor towards November, neither boot creating a sound on the wooden floor. November tip-toed out of the way.
"I-I can't tell," November replied, looking at Red nervously.
Something fell onto the table.
"Have to do everything myself," the old woman muttered. "Must check to see if its okay now. Don't talk back to me!"
November winced, but moved back further still. The old woman came to the oven, obviously unaware of what was going on, until:
"Who are you?"
Red made no sound. As if by magic she produced her axe, clutched in her right hand, the left on still concealed.
Through a series of events that were unclear to November Red had become unarmed and the old woman was holding a large, slender knife in hers.
"Maybe you will check the oven?" She pointed the knife at Red's exposed throat.
November covered her mouth.
The old woman screamed, scrambling to get out of the fire. Red slammed the door, ignoring all cries for mercy and shrieks of pain. She shut it, locked it, chest heaving and face carefully concealed. She picked up her axe and November, though she would never mention it, saw the slender fingers that wrapped around the worn wood shake.
"We ahve the children," Red said as she passed November.
November nodded and followed. Outside everything was a dark blue. Dawn was fast approaching.
She walked around the first floor, taking in the fine rug and the small piece of tapestry above the fireplace. There were small wooden figures of cats lined up in the kitchen window. She debated with herself whether or not to go upstairs and see how Goldia was doing, but curiosity had gotten the better of her.
Up the neat little staircase she went, walking on tip-toe so as to not wake Goldia. She opened the door to the room which she thought that her companion was sleeping in and gasped. Goldia slept in the center of the room in a large bed with innocent face and golden hair fanned around it. Surrounding her, on the dirty wooden walls, hung like precious tapestries, were skulls. Varying sizes of bear skulls hung on the wall and the ceiling. In between the two windows hung three, one large, one medium, and one small. She tasted the bile in her throat and looked down. She choked in disgust. The light floor was splattered, unclean, and stained red.
Disregarding the fact that Goldia may wake up she ran down the stairs, tripping on the last steps. She could hear Goldia's hurried footsteps. Her head jerked back and stars exploded in her vision. She grabbed at the unnaturally strong hands and tried to disentangle the fingers.
"Why?" Goldia hissed. "Why did you have to come upstairs? I give you food, clean clothes, and a place to sleep. Is this how you repay me?"
She strained against the force, her neck aching. She looked out of the corner of her eye and noticed a misplaced fire poker. She stretched her fingers out, rolling it towards her. She gripped it in her hand and swung it behind her.
A loud yelp came from behind her and she fell forward. She looked back, shocked at the large bruise forming on Goldia's face and the blood flowing freely from her mouth. She scrambled to her feet and dashed to the door. She glanced back and saw the stunned expression receding from Goldia's eyes and yanked open the door, jumping back into the rain.
She ran off, soon noticing that the rain was considerably lighter and never more glad to see any form of light in her life.
"But she's innocent!" November cried out.
No one in the crowd heard her. November moved as if to push through the crowd, but found a strong hand holding her back. She twisted around and faced Perrault.
"We have to help her," she said.
Perrault shook his head. "There's nothing we can do, Your Highness."
November looked at him hopelessly, the tears gathering in her eyes. She looked once again at the platform, but could see nothing past the mob of people and the high flames. She covered her mouth and turned away from the sight.
"Perhaps it would be best if we left," Perrault suggested quietly.
November nodded in agreement, following Red who had already begun to walk away. November bowed her head, trying desperately to keep the torrid tears in check. They had found the children and brought them back. Wasn't that enough to save her? She released a shuddering breath.
They walked on, the awkward silence flitting uncertainly between them like a candle's flame wavering in the wind.
"Excuse me?"
November turned around and the others stopped. An old beggar woman clutching her cane smiled sadly at them.
"Poor child," she murmured, moving closer to November. "You've had no peace of mind for a long time." She took one of November's hands into her shaking ones and closed her eyes. "Keep on going. Do not seek out help for you will not find it -help will find you in a form that you least expect."
She opened her eyes and then beckoned November to move closer. November tilted her head, wondering what else this elderly old woman wanted to say. She glanced at Perrault and saw that he was straining to hear what extra bit of important information -it had to be important if she didn't wish for November's companions to overhear- and sighed.
"A warning for you and your female companion: Watch out for a beast with the sweetest voice and strangest form."
November pulled her head back, shocked. Her eyes darted towards Perrault, the smallest spark of fear striking her heart.
"Th-thank you for your help," November said, sweeping aside her panic.
The beggar woman smiled. "If it helps you find what you are looking for then I will be at ease."
November walked away, joining up again with her companions.
"Did she say anything important?" Perrault asked, knowing full well what most of the beggar woman had said.
"Nothing much to go on," November replied briskly, ignoring the strange look that Red was giving her.
Word count: gggg. The transitions are not smooth and Red is OOC -I apologise, I'll try better next time. It was probably also not very smart of me to finish this on an update day, but I am not going to change the story now. I have changed the story three times before I came back to type, and I am still not quite sure what I'm going to do. My planning and organising skills are poor, but I'm trying.
I'll most likely rewrite the first, third, and fourth section. I had to rush and am going to be going somewhere in about fifteen minutes.