Once Upon a Time: The Villains (2 page)

My nights were filled with visions of monsters and devil children. The seed of doubt the villagers had planted continued to fester. Had I caused my mother’s death and the subsequent fading away of my father? Had my mother’s sins been visited on me? Was I a legacy of woe, a vessel for evil my parents had used to absolve themselves of their own iniquities? Bitterness entered my soul and caused my mind to think deep, horrible thoughts of life and death, good versus evil. During those early days, I stole into town and helped myself to whatever I needed without paying a cent. That was
not
good. As I grew older, I helped the creatures of the forest mend. That
was
good.

One cold snowy, winter morning, as I wandered my forest, I stumbled quite literally upon a body. The man laid bloodied and bruised, lips swollen and limbs bent like a child huddling for warmth. I stooped to see if he were alive or dead, and whether or not his pockets held anything of value. As my hand slid into his vest pocket, cold fingers gripped my wrist. My gaze snapped to his face, to his eyes narrowed in pain and begging for mercy. “Please. Help me,” he rasped.

I studied the face, seeing him for who he was — the boy I’d pick-pocketed so long ago, a boy no longer, but a man who’d angered the wrong person, taken someone else’s horse, wife, dream….

I didn’t help him. That was bad. Instead, I stood. I watched his misery infest the pure snow he laid upon. How dare he come into my forest. He pleaded and all I did was rake my eyes over his pathetic form and wish the pain came tenfold. I soon grew tired of watching his struggle with life, and I called to my wolf friends and left knowing the wolves had young ones and food was scarce that time of winter. That was
very
bad.

In fact, now that I think back on my life, I see more bad than good. But does that truly make me into a monster? My hand was forced. I did what needed to be done.

When the trees began to bud, my step would turn lighter. The time neared when I would break my solitude. The only visitor I ever received was the dark-skinned man, now old and nearly as wrinkled as I was. He brought me wondrous items to fill my home, mysterious books laden with spells and objects so unique, so filled with beauty I would gladly pay him a king’s ransom for them. Though I played the bargaining game, my heart wasn’t in it. Nothing stirred my soul, nothing except those times when a finely crafted trinket caught my eye. At those times, I would take the little object, the smallest of the small, and secret it within the folds of my skirt. They were nothing of import, really. And I wouldn’t tell him. Guilt at the tiny sin never entered my mind. I had given him so much, paid handsomely for treasures not worth half the price.

My life revolved around my house, my things and my forest. I doted on all of them as if they were my family. They needed me. They gave me pleasure…and above all, they gave me a purpose.

And then, one warm spring day, the dark-skinned man brought Pepper.

Pepper was a puppy no bigger than my hand. The old man loved that dog. At first I wasn’t interested in having a dog. They only invited fleas and other undesirable pests. But I had developed a mouse problem, one I could not control no matter what kind of magic I used. The man convinced me having a good ratter, a dog like Pepper, would solve that problem.

But something besides getting rid of mice appealed to me. Pepper was a warm body, a loving soul. He adored the old man, and I envisioned that puppy adoring me. Within a week I knew I had to have him. Sadly, the old man hadn’t thought I would want
his
dog. He’d grown attached to the puppy just as I would, but had yet to become. I didn’t see his sorrow, only my want. I was insistent, and even the old man knew when he was beat. It nearly killed him to hand the dog over. But I didn’t care. The dog was mine. The old man left a few days later, alone, casting longing looks back at me cuddling Pepper under my chin. It was the last time I ever saw the old dark-skinned man. I didn’t miss him. I had Pepper now.

My attachment to the puppy unaccountably grew, through the teething, through the accidents on the floor, through the finding of fleas and the eradication of the little pests. Pepper’s warm licks and soft nuzzles touched me, a hidden part, a slumbering part, which had lain dormant for far too long. I had forgotten what it was like to be loved, what it was like to give love. Under Pepper’s gentle guidance, I renewed my association with the feeling and poured all the affection I’d walled up inside me on my new friend.

And then, somewhere between the licks and the games of fetch and the long quiet sessions of panting and petting while I read book after book, my love for Pepper wasn’t enough. I needed something else to love. Not a house, or the things inside, nor a wild animal in need of care or a favored pet. No, I needed a person.

I closed the book I was reading,
Magical Cures for the Middle Ages
whose real title should have been called,
How Not to be Labeled a Hag When You Just Want to Help.
It couldn’t be just anyone. No peasant with limited views. No religious fanatic who’d label me a witch when I brewed my herbs. The old were too cranky, the youth too callow. No. I needed someone malleable. Someone I could teach, who wouldn’t look on me as a monster.

I needed a baby. A newborn infant.

A baby girl. A girl to tend to me when my days grew short and my joints ached. Someone who would tuck me in at night, sing me sweet songs and gently brush my hair. I didn’t once think these last few requests were the things my mother had done. To me they spoke of love. And I dared to dream of unconditional love, one between a mother and her child.

Mother. That is what I wished to be. A mother. A loving, tender, compassionate mother. I would dote on my child like I did my other loves. The thought of abandoning my other obsessions did not seem wrong. I knew only a child could give me what I truly desired.

My heart raced, my blood sped through my veins. My head grew dizzy and my stomach fluttered expectantly. It had been a long time since I had felt this excited. I could barely wait for my child. I would go out at first light. Somewhere, my child was waiting for me.

But my wish would not be granted so easily. No infant met my search. If I came across a girl child, she was either too old, of peasant stock or too plain. I needed a beauty. A child who would bring me the most pleasure, like that which I gained when I gazed upon the treasures I had amassed in my manor.

I realized, quite early on, I would have trouble acquiring my child. The women I saw kept their infants very close. None were likely to give me what I wanted, and I would have a difficult time stealing one, but I was up to the challenge.

I thought long and hard, detailed all the intricacies of my plan. Success was in the details, after all. And then, by sheer luck, a lord’s lady caught my eye. A beauty to be sure, and genteel to a fault. One would barely notice the roundness of her belly; her carriage was grace in motion. Surely she carried a girl child. No male would behave so delicately with its mother.

I had found my child, and my eyes greedily feasted on the promise of my future. I followed the lady to her home, no easy task, and I waited, patiently for the time to pass. Storm clouds rumbled and the deluge fell. Night after night, cold seeped past my cloak, but, I never once complained. I was in labor, the longest of any woman. My pain, my expectation, lasted for weeks.

When the collection of midwives arrived in the middle of the night with their bags of secrets and their haggard faces and threadbare clothes, I stole into the keep and played the part. No one questioned my right to be there. So many hags inhabited the place, each with an expertise another lacked. I hid within my cloak, and when the hour approached, my child came forth.

Peachy pink and soft as down. Beautiful. Hair like angels wings. A voice like a turtle dove. Sweet music to my ears. The lady’s labor had been hard. Her eyes, shadowed by pain for so long, now sought recuperative sleep. As the hags packed up, and the lord stole a few moments with his wife and nary a glance at my child, I knew I had precious little time to work. In the kitchen, I found a small, perfectly shaped head of lettuce and wrapped it in a blanket. In the chaos of the afterbirth, I slipped the wrapped lettuce in the cradle and hid the sleeping infant beneath my cloak, pressing her to my breast.

With no trouble at all, I left the keep and entered the woods. As I journeyed further into its welcoming arms, I thought I heard a scream of horror. I only imagined it. Why should they be upset? I only took my child.

I pulled the cloak away from my daughter. The scent of clean baby entered my nostrils, and I smiled. Innocent and pure. Perfection at last.

Mine at last.

“Hello, Rapunzel. I am your mother. I love you so very much.”

Oh, those early years, the feedings, the changing, the bathing. It was a blur of pure bliss. My daughter grew lovelier by the day. She delighted me as no other. No possession of mine could please me with just a simple look. Pepper could not hug me, nor kiss me so sweetly. Nor could my books interest me as she did. Her curiosity astounded me, her giggles delighted me. My child surpassed all others and I hoarded her, kept her close and told no one of my newest treasure. She was mine and mine alone. And we were happy.

As she grew, I read her stories and her imagination swelled. Naturally, she asked questions. I had dreaded the moment for so long, the moment when she asked why we never saw anyone. Why we never left our little corner of the world. I told her we were keepers of the forest…that an enchantment kept us here. Our job was to keep peace and tend to the creatures that appeared at our door. She accepted the duty without question. Her obedience pleased me greatly.

An energetic child, she reigned over her kingdom like a queen, a benevolent, compassionate ruler. King Arthur would have approved, and she often pretended the king of old walked her kingdom with her, sharing in her duties. I humored her. I poured over the mysterious books the dark-skinned man had brought me so long ago and found little enchantments to further her imagination. I learned to call birds from the sky, to bring flowers to bloom in the snow and to bring a doe and her fawn to our back door. These little tricks thrilled her, and I delved further into the old ways.

I mastered many secret things, not only ways to call on animals, but ways to bring about rain and sun. I manipulated the elements do my bidding. I know what you think, that I enjoyed the power. But you are wrong. I didn’t do it for me. I did it for my creature friends, for my daughter. My forest became an Eden, a place none would want to leave…a place Rapunzel would never leave.

We existed as two halves of a whole. I often found tears wetting my cheeks as I gazed at my daughter. She was everything I had ever wished to be. Her skin was softer than down, her complexion flawless. Her hair, though close in color to mine, was thick and shiny and grew so fast it puddled three inches deep on the floor by the age of twelve. She had a voice like an angel and often sung to me as I lay in bed.

She would never leave me. I knew it as if the promise were written upon my bones. She was faithful. She would always be, as I had always been.

Because of this unspoken promise, her betrayal stung sharper than the thrust of a sword.

The boy appeared one frosty autumn morn like a ghost from the mist. I blinked, horrified by the sight of a male treading within my forest. How had he come to be there without my knowledge? My woodland friends always told me of trespassers. Why not him?

“I pray those of the manor are well,” the lad called and waved at me.

I must admit. I was stunned speechless. I could neither call out a curse nor move to avoid his approach. Not so Rapunzel. She dashed past me like a gazelle; grace and beauty cloaked her welcome as she grabbed the stranger’s hand and pulled him toward me. The familiarity of their touch shocked me. Had she seen this boy before? When in her sixteen years had she ever seen another soul but me?

He stopped before me, took up my hand and bowed low over it. My mouth hung open. I had never been touched by any but Rapunzel. The boy, this handsome gallant lad had dared do what others shrank from trying. “You must be Rapunzel’s mother.”

It was no question, but a statement of fact. He knew my daughter and he knew of me. He had stolen into our refuge and laid quiet siege to our fortress. I could see the inroads he had made shining from Rapunzel’s eyes. My heart froze. My daughter was in love. How could that be?

I pulled my parched, wrinkled hand from his and drew in a deep breath. “And who are you?” I asked in my most superior voice.

“Arthur.”

My gaze whipped to my daughter. Arthur? Her king? But those times she had been pretending! This couldn’t be. All those “pretend” conversations? From so long ago? Was this the one who strode at her side and played the lord to her maiden?

Rapunzel did not so much as look my way. “Arthur is no stranger to me, Mother. We have been friends forever. He has been my dearest friend, and now my love.”

I felt the blade of panic thrust deeper into my chest. Her eyes were only for Arthur, her confidant, her friend and now her love. But that could not be. She was mine.

Arthur cleared his throat and I turned my eyes on him, hating him for what he was about to do. “I have come today to ask for Rapunzel’s hand in marriage.”

“No,” my denial was whisper soft but very clear.

“Mother,” Rapunzel’s gentle reprimand stabbed against my nerves. “It is what I want. You will love Arthur too. I know you will.”

The storm clouds gathered in my mind and within the sky. My anger burned bright. How dare he think to charm my child! How dare he try to steal her from me.

A mighty wind rushed between us. I grabbed my daughter’s hand and yanked her to my side. Rain slapped in this interloper’s face like shards of glass, and he covered his face with his hands, howling in pain. “Be gone!” I screamed above the melee. “May your eyes cease to see and may you wander the roads blindly searching for that which you will never have. Be gone and never return!”

He cried out for my child, groping for the one he could not see. Blood mingled with water as the rain sliced against his face. My magic was strong, and I reveled in its justice. My child did not. She screamed and fought against me like one possessed, but I held her fast. I dragged her within the manor and locked the door. Never again would I trust another.