Rapunzel, the One With All the Hair (10 page)

I have gone to the window to stare out at the world that I was so close to being a part of again. To have been so close and to have failed has left me empty. My belly is rumbling so loud, I am certain the blackbirds can hear it. A yellow-beaked jackdaw tries to land on the same branch as a red-horned owl, and I watch as the owl flaps its wings in warning. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement below the tower. For a second my heart leaps, thinking it is Steven, although I know it cannot be. It is the witch, of course, and she is holding a bowl in her arms.

“Are you hungry, my dear daughter?” she calls up, all sweetness and light.

Every inch of me cringes when she calls me
dear daughter.
I still cannot bear to speak to her. But I am very hungry. With a sigh, I nod my head.

“Then let down your hair and I shall climb up and feed you.” She tilts the bowl so I can see round red objects that must be berries. At this point I would eat the bark off a tree.
While I am thinking about filling my belly, her words finally sink in. I have suddenly found my voice.

I lean out the window and yell, “Did you say to let down my HAIR? And you will use it to CLIMB UP?”

“Yes, dear daughter.”

“But it is not nearly long enough, and I would fall from the window,” I point out. “Surely your weight is too much for me to bear.”

“Do as I say, dear child. Unwrap your hair, and you will find it is both long enough and strong enough to do the task at hand.”

Certain that she is madder than I already know her to be, I begin to unwrap my braid. Whole minutes go by and I am still unraveling it. I step to the window and lower the braid. To my shock, it really DOES reach the ground. The witch latches on and begins to climb. She moves very quickly, nearly as quickly as Steven climbed up the rope. I can feel her weight, but no more than if it were Sir Kitty swinging on it. The witch reaches the window ledge and I back up to let her in.

She dusts herself off and hands me a heavy pewter bowl. To my surprise, there are no red berries, only twigs. I look up at her with raised brows.

She laughs in that way that I hate. I realize I have been tricked.

“Did you truly believe you would be rewarded for your disloyal behavior? You shall go hungry today to think about what you've done.”

My head sinks to my chest. The witch snatches the bowl from my hands and then climbs onto the window ledge. My hair is still hanging out of the window. She grabs hold of it and lowers herself down. Once again I feel only the lightest tug. When she reaches the bottom she waves up at me. “Ta-ta, my daughter. See you in the morn.”

This is easily the lowest point of my time here.

Too stunned to say anything, we stare wide-eyed at the old man as the tomato pulp rolls down his long beard and ragged clothes. He reaches up and parts his long hair so he can see us better. Elkin and I are both frozen in our boots.

“Well,” says the not-a-troll-but-a-hermit in a cracking voice that clearly hasn't been used in some time. “What a lovely greeting.”

I force my mouth to work. “We … we are deeply sorry, sir. Truly, we thought you were a troll.”

Elkin nods his head vehemently. “We were told — well,
he
was told — that a troll would be guarding a cave full of treasure.”

The old man wipes the juice off his face with his sleeve and squeezes out his beard. Then, of all things, he chuckles, and his mouth forms a sort of half smile.

“Ah, so that old rumor is still going strong,” he says, shaking his head. “All these years. Amazing.”

Elkin and I exchange a look. “Rumor?” I ask with a sinking feeling. “There is no troll? No bandit treasure?”

The hermit shakes his head. Tomato seeds fly out and land in the dirt.

My heart sinks. All my grand plans for Other Benjamin and his father flit past my eyes. There goes my last chance to be immortalized in song. “But the map, the book. They all said —”

“Come,” the hermit says. “Sit with me and I shall explain.” He heads into the cave and clearly expects us to follow.

Elkin grabs my arm. “What if it's a trap? We did just tomato him, you know!”

“We don't have a choice,” I reply. “We can't be rude after what we did.”

Elkin nods grudgingly and we step into the darkness. Once we are a foot or two inside, candles illuminate the cave fairly well. I can make out a pile of round fruit, a bowl of water, and a bed of straw and feathers covered with wool blankets. Fur pelts line the walls. It is actually quite cozy. Not very roomy, though. With the three of us, there is barely enough space to turn around. The hermit sits down in the center of the cave on a bear pelt, and motions for us to sit, too.

“Can I offer you anything?” he asks. “Ale? Wine?” He
peers closely at us in the murkiness. “No, I see you are not yet old enough for libations. Water, perhaps?”

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.