Rapunzel: The One With All the Hair Page 9

  I shake my head but Elkin says, “Yes, please.”

  The hermit reaches behind him and dips a small metal cup into the bowl of water. He hands the water to Elkin, who gulps it down. I must admit it does look refreshing. But my throat is too tight to eat or drink anything.

  “How long have you been here?” Elkin asks.

  “I have lost count,” the hermit says. “Since well before either of you were born.” As he talks, I notice he is stroking something next to him. A rat? No, a hare. It might be the candlelight playing tricks with my eyes, but I think it has a brown spot on its rump!

  “And it was you who started the rumor of the troll?” Elkin asks. My head is spinning too fast to form questions — a problem Elkin does not appear to suffer from.

  “Yes,” the hermit answers. “I needed to find a way to keep marauders and bandits and even the good king’s knights away from my door. I am a very private man, you see.”

  “I can see that,” Elkin says.

  “Cat got your tongue, Prince Benjamin?” the hermit says, turning to me. “You are awfully quiet.”

  “How do you know who I am?” I ask. Due to the tightness of my throat, it comes out squeaky.

  Elkin laughs and I hurry to clear my throat.

  “Oh, I know many things,” the hermit answers cryptically. “One cannot live alone in the forest without picking up a few skills.”

  “Why do you live here?” Elkin asks. “I thought the forest was cleared of hermits at the same time the bandits were all gathered up.”

  “We hermits are a stubborn lot,” the old man says with that strange half smile. “We know how to hide. Come, I’ll show you.” He stands up, grabs a candle from its niche on the wall, and moves aside one of the fur pelts hanging on the wall. To my surprise, there is another cave behind it. And then another cave behind THAT one. Finally we wind up in a large cavern and I am wishing I had my cloak, because it is very cold in here. The hermit uses his candle to light others all around the room. When my eyes focus, I can’t believe what I see before me. The walls of the cave are completely covered in spectacular artwork. Someone has painted pictures of animals playing, men and women dancing, mountains and lakes, and everything under the sun. I turn around in a circle. There is not one inch left uncovered.

  “Wow!” Elkin exclaims, echoing my thoughts. “Did you do all this?”

  The hermit nods. “This is my life’s work. This is why I could not leave.” He tells us to take all the time we want, and heads back out. Elkin and I walk around the room, pointing out things to each other and lightly touching the beautiful renderings.

  “This is the most amazing place I have ever seen,” Elkin says, wiping a tear from the corner of one eye.

  I look away out of politeness. Who would have thought that my brutish cousin would be moved by art? Clearly, there is a lot I do not know about him. “I cannot imagine its equal,” I say in agreement. “But we’d better go.” Even so, it is quite a while before we can drag ourselves away.

  I watch out the window as the witch disappears behind the tower. Then I pull my hair back in and let it pile up on the floor behind me. What do I do now? I have no vellum to write on, no Steven to commiserate with, and no food. Once again, Sir Kitty has resorted to licking the dew off the walls. I remember what Grandmother said about singing when times were bad. Well, times don’t get any badder than this.

  I clear my throat a bit and then launch into the songs Mother taught me. I alternate between “The Lovely Lass,” “The King of the Wolf People,” “Dipsy Doodle,” and “Mitsy the Wonder Dog.” At first I feel silly and self-conscious, even though the only ones who can hear me are the birds and Sir Kitty. But there is something about having my voice sail out on the breeze over the treetops that is bringing some life back into me.

  We find the hermit out by the fire pit, sitting on a moss-covered log and puffing away on a pipe. He has changed his clothes. Still rags, but not tomato-covered rags. “What do you think of my work?” he asks.

  Elkin answers first. “You could be paid your weight in gold to share your talent with the world. You could have a home, and real clothes. Why hide out here?”

  “This is how I like to live,” the hermit explains, taking the pipe from his mouth and resting it on his knee. “We all have our place in this world. This is my place.”

  A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. The old man looks up. “What is it, sire? What troubles you?”

  I look down at my feet and figure I might as well tell him the truth. Somehow I imagine he knows it, anyway. “I had hoped to use the bandits’ treasure to help a villager to find his place. And … well … I thought maybe someday, someone somewhere might sing a song about me afterward.” I blush as I say that last part, and expect to hear Elkin laugh at me again. When I don’t hear anything, I finally look up to meet the hermit’s eyes. He is watching me intently. I begin to squirm under his gaze. It is as though he is seeing right through me.

  “You will find other ways to help your friend,” he tells me. “You have only to use your eyes. As for your song, someone will indeed be singing for you. But you must listen hard for it.”

  “I’ll sing for you, Benjamin,” Elkin jokes. “You may not like it, though!”

  The hermit smiles his crooked smile and sticks the pipe back in his mouth. “The song I speak of is for Benjamin alone. Yours, young Prince Elkin, is an easier path.” And with that, he stands and walks back into his cave without a backward glance. We stand by the fire pit for another minute, not sure what we should do.

  “What do you mean, use my eyes?” I call into the cave. “What do you mean, someone will be singing for me?”

  But the only thing that comes out of the cave is silence.

  “Well, I guess that’s that, then,” Elkin says. “We REALLY must go now.” When I don’t budge, he grabs my arm and drags me back toward the horses.

  As we ride back out to the main trail, the hermit’s words keep playing in my head over and over, like one of Annabelle’s nursery rhymes. How could I hear a song if I’m not listening? Can one hear and not listen? Has the hermit gone batty from living in that cave for so long?

  “Um, Benjamin?” Elkin calls from behind me. “Are you watching for the red marks? I don’t remember seeing this grove before.”

  I snap to attention and turn Snowflake in a circle. Uh-oh. Where are we? Nothing looks familiar to me, either. We try retracing our steps but only wind up in the same spot. I close my eyes and try to remember how far apart the marked trees were from each other. Maybe that will help. With my eyes closed I am aware of Snowflake’s breathing. I hear the rustling of the leaves, which means the wind is picking up. I’m about to open my eyes and tell Elkin that it’s hopeless, when I hear something else. It sounds like a faint singing. My eyes flutter open. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Elkin asks, glancing worriedly at the rapidly setting sun.

  “It sounded like a girl’s voice,” I say, twisting around in my saddle. “Wait — there it is again! She’s … she’s singing!”

  “Sorry, cousin, but I hear nothing,” Elkin says. “Are you certain you’re not imagining it?”

  I tilt my head … and there it is again. I hear a melody riding on the wind, but I cannot make out the words. “I swear by my father’s kingdom I am not.”

  Elkin squeezes his eyes shut and turns one ear up to the sky, then the other. He opens his eyes again and shakes his head. “Perhaps this is what the hermit meant about hearing someone singing when you listen?”

  “But you were just listening — why wouldn’t you have heard?”

  Elkin shrugs. “Perhaps I am not meant to hear. The hermit said this was your story, not mine. What does the singing sound like?”

  I lead Snowflake a few yards to the right, and the singing gets louder. But then it fades again until I back up a few steps. “She sounds — I don’t know — sad or something. I think I need to find her, but I cannot tell where the singing is coming from.”


  Then a loud horn splits the air and we both jump a few inches in our saddles. The horses lift their noses into the air and sniff.

  “I know where THAT’S coming from,” Elkin says. “The hunt master is announcing the end of the hunt. You’ll have to come back tomorrow to find your singing girl.”

  “Wait — how will I find this spot again?”

  Elkin thinks for a minute, then his face lights up. “We can shoot our arrows into the trees as we head back. We won’t want to return with a full quiver, anyway, or else the king will know we did not hunt.”

  “Er … I do not know if you have seen me shoot an arrow, but no rider is safe near me. My arrows have a mind of their own.”

  “I shall do it,” he says, hurrying to detach his bow from his saddle. “You leave your arrows here to help you find the exact spot you first heard the singing.”

  I do as he says, dumping all of my arrows into a pile at my side. Elkin’s first shot easily hits the closest tree with a pleasing twang. Well, sure, when we’re not MOVING, even I could have done that. Well, I probably could have done that. He swings Dusty Rose around and heads off, shooting arrows as he goes.

  I hurry to keep up. “We are still lost, remember?”

  Elkin shakes his head. “I have a feeling the horses know how to get back. Let them guide us.”

  “But how —”

  “Just trust me,” he says, and drops his reins.

  Trusting Elkin. Whoever would have imagined? Not able to think of a better option, I follow suit. A few minutes later I see a tree with a red mark, then another, and another. We are back on the path! Elkin dumps the rest of his arrows in a thick bush. Now able to ride next to each other again, I ask him where he suggests we tell my father we were during the hunt.

  “Leave it to me,” Elkin says.

  “Assuming we are not punished for the rest of our natural lives, how will I get back into the forest to find the girl?”

  “Leave that to me, too. Now let’s put on our helmets again and rejoin the hunters. Do you hear them up ahead?”

  I do hear them! The thundering of hooves is getting closer.

  “On my mark,” Elkin says, picking up the reins and halting his horse. “One … two … three!” He digs in his heels and Dusty Rose takes off. I follow close behind. Miraculously, we wind up right at the end of the group of hunters, looking for all the world as though we’d been there the whole time.

  My oil lamp now useless, all I have left are a few matches that managed to escape the ravages of the spilled ink and oil. I light one of them and hold the small mirror up to my face. The glass has shattered, but I can still see into it. My reflection is all jumbled and shadowy. Who is this girl now? Who is Rapunzel? I stare hard into my grass-colored eyes, now splintered in the mirror, and ask the question again: WHO AM I??

  I take a deep breath. Out loud, I reply, “I am me. I am a singer of songs. I am my parents’ only daughter. I am a friend to my schoolmates and to Steven. I am mother and protector to Sir Kitty. I am not a child anymore.” A wave of determination passes through me like a hot wind and even with my empty belly, I feel my strength returning. I am NOT going to let the witch destroy what is inside me. It is all I have left.

  When we get out of the forest and back onto the castle grounds, the men slow their horses to a trot. Father hangs back and pulls up alongside us.

  “How did you do, boys?” he asks, his face flushed with the thrill of the hunt. There is a stag tied to the rump of his horse. “I see you have used all your arrows. Excellent!”

  “Er, thank you, Father,” I say uncertainly. “We, uh, did not catch anything, though.”

  Elkin adds, “Benjamin did a fine job, uncle. He missed a fox by barely an inch!”

  Father clasps me on the shoulder. “Fine job, just fine.”

  I smile weakly. “Er, thanks?” My cheeks are burning, but Father doesn’t notice.

  “In fact,” Elkin continues, “we worked so well together as a pair that I was hoping we could go back tomorrow to try again.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Father says, clasping Elkin on the shoulder this time. “Benjamin’s mother will be very pleased that he is finally taking an interest in a sport.”

  When Father leaves us to bid good-bye to his hunting party, I turn to Elkin and say, “I thought I was supposed to find the singing girl on my own. How shall I do that if you’re with me?”

  “Do not worry — I won’t be with you. I’ll have the groom saddle me up and then leave you once we enter the forest. Perhaps I’ll visit the hermit again. I kind of liked him.”

  “I liked him, too,” I say.

  Elkin adds, “Although he could use a good bathing!”

  I laugh as we pull our horses into the stable and dismount. Andrew comes running out to greet us, the empty satchel in his hand. We pull him into the private courtyard and fill him in on what happened. He shakes his head the whole time, repeatedly saying, “I do not believe it! I simply do not believe it!” When we get to the part about hitting the hermit with the tomatoes, his hands fly over his mouth. When we are finished, he says, “What if you found the wrong cave and the real one, with the treasure, and the troll, is still out there?”

  “Huh,” Elkin and I say together. I hadn’t considered that. Then I shake my head. “No, the hermit told us he had started the rumor about the troll and the treasure to be left in peace. We have to face facts. The legend was a lie.”

  Andrew sinks his head into his hands. “I am so sorry, sire. Forgive me for sending you on a wild-goose chase.”

  “No, no, Andrew,” I tell him, patting him on the back. “It was truly a grand adventure. I have never had one its equal.”

  “Nor I,” Elkin says.

  “Besides,” I continue, beginning to pace, “the adventure is not over. I have a singing girl to find!”

  Father says that when it rains, the gods are crying. We used to try to make up reasons for their tears. “One of them stubbed his toe!” or “One of them pushed the other off a cloud!” or “One of them proposed marriage to another but she turned him down!” Whatever the reason, there must be a lot of crying going on up there, because it is pouring like the heavens themselves have opened up.

  This is the first rain since my imprisonment, and in a way, the pounding on the treetops and the tower walls is soothing. Plus, it offers an endless supply of water. All I need do is stick my head out, lean back, and open my mouth.

  I fear the witch will not come because of the rain. I hate the fact that I need her for food. Steven’s whole kitchen is right above me, but it might as well be in another country. But come she does, and this time the bowl really contains red berries, with nuts and raisins, too. She scowls at me as I grab for it, but leaves me and Sir Kitty to eat in peace. When we are through (it does not take long, due to the fact that we gobble it down like we have never tasted food before) I continue my singing. Sometimes I make up a new verse about a girl with a dream of freedom. I am quite a talented songwriter, if I do say so myself. Perhaps I will have a new career ahead of me when I leave here.

  IF I leave here.

  It is barely dawn when Elkin and I saddle up the horses. Mum is overjoyed that I have taken an interest in a sport, and she made sure that I had the first bite of Father’s stag last night at supper. I am still surprised that she is so quick to let us go into the forest by ourselves, but I am certainly not going to press the issue and risk her changing her mind.

  We have to make a pretense of packing our bow and arrows, although we will dump the arrows as soon as we enter the forest. Andrew has agreed to go in after us and collect them so no one else will find them first and get suspicious. He also convinced the royal painter to give him a jar filled with yellow ochre so that I can mark the trees as I venture into parts unknown.

  Just as the stable boy swings open the gates, the first drop of water hits the ground, followed in quick succession by the second, third, and fourth drops. By the time Elkin and I have led the horses a foot from the gate
, it is full-on pouring. A peal of thunder rumbles overhead and the horses whinny in response. My heart sinks. The groom approaches and says, “I am sorry, sires. I must bring the horses back into the stables. They are not to be ridden in a storm.”

  I reach down and put my hand on Snowflake’s flank. I can feel him shaking slightly. “He’ll be fine,” I say weakly, not even convincing myself.

  “I am sorry, sire, truly,” the groom says, holding out his hands for the reins. With a sigh, I hand them over. Elkin does the same. Having no choice, we dismount and run back toward the castle, hunching our shoulders against the rain.

  “She’ll still be there tomorrow,” Elkin assures me as we run across the field.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” I reply. A bolt of lightning shoots across the sky and we pick up our pace.

  “That is a chance you will have to take,” he calls out from behind. His short legs can’t carry him as fast as mine and I slow down to let him catch up. We run together into the main courtyard, which is sheltered from the rain by wooden slats overhead.

  “You must cheer up,” Elkin says, shaking the water from his hair. “Let me beat you at a game of chess to take your mind off your worries.”

  It didn’t exactly take my mind off my worries, but it was fun beating Elkin three times in a row until Mum said I was being rude to our houseguest and I had to let him win one game.

  NEXT DAY, 17TH OF AUGUSTUS

  Thankfully, it is bright and sunny this morning and we have gotten an early start. My heart is thudding against my tunic. What if I do not hear the singing again? Perhaps the girl was only out with her family for a day of riding and is long gone. Will my search be in vain?

  “Are you certain you’ll be all right?” Elkin asks as we reach the area of the forest where we are to part ways. “You are mumbling to yourself in a particularly odd way.”

  “Your concern is touching,” I tell him. “But I’ll be fine.” I pat the back of Snowflake’s head for comfort.